


Another Moment That Could’ve Been Ours

by Five678Patty, Pants (Smarty_Pants)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) References, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baseball uniform, Boys Kissing, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Dry Humping, Ex-Girlfriends, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time Topping, Frights, Grinding, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hand Jobs, Haunted Houses, Hidden Cameras, Implied Past Non-Con, Implied past BDSM, Leather, Leather Jackets, Leather Trousers, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Reality TV, Sharing a Bed, Spooky, TV production, Television, There Is Only One Bed!, fake boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Five678Patty/pseuds/Five678Patty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smarty_Pants/pseuds/Pants
Summary: What if Patrick never mustered the courage to ask David out on his birthday? What then happens if nearly four months later, at Halloween, both Rachel and one of David’s exes roll into town? Fake Boyfriends, that’s what.
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 48
Kudos: 229
Collections: Schitt's Creek Trick Or Treat





	1. In the Wrong Place at the Same Time

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCTrickOrTreat](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCTrickOrTreat) collection. 



> __**Prompt:**  
>  One of David’s exes comes to town… but make it Halloween-y.

Patrick is kind of piecing together that David might be in distress about something. He bristles any time a customer mentions the haunted house that’s being held on the outskirts of town tonight plus he was a little too enthusiastic in his support of the customer who said they were spending the holiday hexing their ex-husband. “Oh, well isn’t that fun,” David had said, much too cheerily, as he placed the black candles and cinnamon sticks into the Rose Apothecary tote. 

“Is everything okay?” Patrick asks.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” he replies, unconvinced but willing to follow David’s lead. In the five months since they’d become business partners, Patrick has learned a lot about David. They’ve developed a shorthand around the store, learning to read each other’s moods and anticipate each other’s needs. The store they’ve built together is thriving—so says David—and their friendship—also thriving—has grown alongside their business, formed on the solid bedrock of mutual teasing and occasional flirting. Or at least Patrick thinks it’s flirting. He’s pretty sure at least. He can’t be entirely certain given how spectacularly wrong he’s been about matters of the heart, and other body parts, for the bulk of his life. 

He’s spent more than one sleepless night—and early morning hike—these past several months questioning if he’d missed some vital cue from David; cursing the wretched flickering lights from their soft launch or wondering what would have happened if he’d mustered the courage to ask David out on his birthday. 

David huffs out a sigh and Patrick looks up to see his business partner replenishing stock (somewhat heavier of hand than usual). The tubs of Brenda’s moisturizer thunk noisily against the countertop as David unboxes them. 

“Are you sure nothing’s the matter?” 

David lets out a resigned breath and meets Patrick’s eyes. “Here’s a question—Um, has your mother ever invited one of your exes to town in some bid to further her career? Not once, but twice?”

“Your mom invited Sebastien Raine to town _again_?” Patrick puts down the spray bottle he’s using to spritz the produce. He’s surprised that Mrs. Rose would make that same mistake based on what David has told him about the last time Sebastien was here. 

“No, but she may as well have."

“Oh?” So, someone else then. Patrick is learning there are a lot of someone elses. And he is jealous of each and every one of them.

“This time she invited the actual devil.” Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Well, close enough. Desdemona Donovan. We dated back when Alexis had her reality show and—”

“Alexis had a reality show?” Patrick interrupts.

David glares at him. _Right._ Not the point of this conversation. 

“And her coming to town is bad?” he asks. 

“Yes. It’s bad. It’s, um, it’s pretty bad. For me, for Alexis. Probably for my mom.”

“Why? What did she do?” 

David concentrates on arranging the products rather than meeting Patrick’s eyes as he speaks in a low voice. “She—Desdemona—was a producer on the show. She’s one of those people that likes to be in charge and always demands attention. And she demanded mine . . . at least until she got what she really wanted.” 

Patrick opens his mouth to ask a question but stays quiet as he watches David’s painful face journey. He pauses, seeming to reach deep for the words. 

“We had a brief and very, um, _intense_ relationship that lasted just long enough for her to manipulate me into revealing some sensitive information about my family, specifically about Alexis. She used that to get a job at one of those tabloid TV shows and after that our whole thing ended pretty quickly. Now I guess she’s gotten herself in front of the camera, where she always really wanted to be—a rising star, gorgeous, predatory and as rotten as they come.”

“Huh.”

Patrick takes in the information. This ex of David’s doesn’t sound like someone who’d voluntarily come to a place like Schitt’s Creek. But there in front of him stands David dressed in his signature monochrome and skirted pants; the son of a man perpetually besuited and a woman who once wore a wig like a scarf. The Roses aren’t exactly those people either. Yet they are here in town, and that must figure into why this woman has decided to come. He’s beginning to see why David is worried. 

“So, why is she here?” 

David lets out another sigh. “According to my mother, Desdemona is going to be the host of a new show featuring spooky houses in small towns across North America. You better believe that when Moira Rose heard about that, she contacted her people with the story about the creepy old Divine House that Twyla is always going on about. So now Schitt’s Creek is going to be featured in an episode. I just found out that the haunted house party tonight is actually a popup promotional event for Desdemona’s show. There may be some cameras there.”

“And your mom sees this as an opportunity to get back on television?”

“Exactly. They need a local host for each episode and she wants to be this episode’s host. That’s why she reached out to Desdemona. You’d think she would’ve learned her lesson after Sebastien but, no, here we are again months later, and another monster is about to descend on us. It’s like I’m cursed.” David waves his hands emphatically to punctuate the point.

“Well, _it is_ Halloween, so that makes sense,” Patrick says, seizing on the opening David has given him, hoping to lighten the mood.

David narrows his eyes, his face contorting into a look that Patrick has become familiar with—a look he loves putting there—one of mock annoyance. Patrick pushes ahead, seeing if he can elicit a David Rose eye-roll next.

“Did you notice that Miriam’s last batch of butter had a slightly darker hue than usual? You don’t think those farm witches put a curse on it, do you? Have you offended any young and impressionable Amish women lately?”

“Okay, I really regret telling you about that chapter in my life.”

“Ooooh, you know what. . . You’ve probably inadvertently touched a cursed object. We should retrace your steps, see what could’ve triggered this fate.”

David glares at him. “I know you think you’re being funny, but that actually happened to Alexis once. Long story short, Princess Beatrice is a little b, the royal guards can hold their own in a scuffle, and The Queen Mary Fringe Tiara is definitely cursed. Otherwise why did Prince Harry react so badly when Alexis dumped him at the Royal Ascot? It’s not like they were exclusive.”

Patrick is saved from having to respond by the bell jingling above the door. He turns to see Alexis entering the store. It’s as if the mere mention of her antics has the power to summon her. He smiles warmly at David’s overly affectionate sister. She had started referring to him as “a button” a few months ago which honestly Patrick doesn’t mind at all because each time she says it, the Rose siblings share a knowing look. He isn’t sure what it means, but he’s sure he wants to know.

Both he and Alexis begin to speak at the same moment.

“Everybody, this is my new friend—”

“Welcome, Alexis. David was just—”

The words die on Patrick’s lips as he recognizes the woman who follows Alexis into the store. Perhaps he’s the one who’s cursed. He takes an instinctive step back, increasing the distance between himself and her small frame.

“Patrick?”

“Rachel, what are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here? I’ve been texting you for two days.”

This can’t be happening. God, please don’t let this be happening. But it is. It is happening. So many things. All at once.

Alexis turns towards Rachel. “Wait, Patrick is your fiancé?”

“Ahh, I’m sorry? You have a fiancée?” David’s voice is soft and unsure behind him and it draws Patrick’s immediate attention. He looks over his shoulder at David then back at Rachel. And he panics. Completely. He blames that for what happens next.

Everyone is talking at once. Everyone is looking at him. Everyone is waiting for answers. Patrick looks between David and Rachel again and decides to answer Rachel’s question first.

“I work here. This is my store.” Patrick takes several small steps backwards as he speaks, until he’s standing next to David. “I own it. . . with my part— with my _boyfriend._ ” Patrick reaches down and slides his hand into David’s. David’s head snaps in his direction. His face is doing something Patrick can’t interpret. Patrick raises his eyebrows and gives David his best _just go with it_ look. It must work because David plasters his best customer-service smile to his face and directs it at Rachel.

“Hi, I’m David. It's nice to meet you.”

Rachel looks up at David from where she had just been staring at their joined hands. Then directs her attention to Patrick.

“Wait. Hang on. You’re gay?”

“Yes,” Patrick says as he holds Rachel’s eye contact. “I am.”

He turns to David, takes a steadying breath, and looks him in the eyes. “I’m gay.” He can feel a smile beginning to shape his lips. He feels the truth of the statement at the same time as he feels the pressure of David’s hand squeezing reassuringly. _Holy shit._ He just came out. To David. Patrick Brewer is an out gay man. A weight he didn’t realize he had been carrying lifts immediately from his shoulders.

“You’re gay,” Rachel says quietly to herself.

Her voice draws Patrick’s attention away from David and although this time it’s not a question, he answers her anyway.

“Yes. That’s right.”

“But you can’t be. We were engaged.”

“Rach, I am. I’m gay,” Patrick says again, softer this time.

Rachel looks equal parts confused and upset. Fuck. He knows he can’t keep avoiding this forever, even if part of him wants to. He owes her a conversation at the very least.

“C’mon. We have a lot to talk about.” He gestures towards the door and Rachel nods.

What he wouldn’t give to have a minute alone with David, to come out to him _properly_ and not just thrust it upon him as part of a ridiculous farce. Patrick hesitates for a moment, squeezing David’s hand meaningfully as he looks into his eyes. He wills David to understand (through whatever form of business partner telepathy they’d honed during their time working together) that this _could_ be real. That he _wants_ it to be real.

The presence of Rachel looms by the door, she makes a small, irritated noise and Patrick breaks eye contact with David.

“Are you coming then? Or are we doing this here?”

“I’m coming,” he says. He looks back at David, his face trying to emote all the things he longs to say. Patrick can feel Rachel’s eyes on him. On them—him and David. He gives David’s hand another quick squeeze and places his free hand against David’s bicep as he leans up and places a soft kiss to David’s cheek. The feeling of David’s stubble against his lips makes his stomach flip.

Under any other circumstance, he would have. . . oh, who is he kidding, he has no idea what he would have done. Instead, he reluctantly untangles his hand from David’s and follows Rachel out the door.

David watches as Patrick exits the Apothecary, his normally self-assured business partner looking a bit like a man on his way to the firing squad. As he walks past the front window, Patrick turns toward David and their eyes meet for a moment. Patrick’s shoulders raise in an imperceptible shrug and he continues to follow Rachel.

David breathes out a heavy exhale. He slouches against the counter, feeling heavy and fuzzy-minded. He almost forgets his sister is there but then Alexis excitedly slaps his arm. 

“Oh my god, David!”

“What? _What!_ ” He glares at her, in no mood.

“Ooh, David, yay! Patrick is gay. Now you don’t have to keep making all those sad little puppy faces whenever he’s around. I told you he was into you!”

“Okay, swallow a screwdriver, please. I don’t make any type of puppy faces, sad or otherwise. And, look, it’s Patrick—this is _Patrick_ we’re talking about, Alexis. Have you seen his jeans? His rolled up sleeves? His generally cheerful-helpful-business-guy Patrickness? Patrick is not into me.”

“Mmmkay, David. But didn’t you hear him? He _just_ said you are his _boyfriend._ Why would he say that to an absolute cutie like Rachel if it isn’t something he considers a real possibility?” Alexis twirls a lock of her hair as she gazes at her brother with some undefined mixture of love, sympathy and mischief. David huffs. 

“Well, obviously he just came up with the most extreme, outlandish thing he could think of and to a guy like Patrick that is being with someone like—” he shimmies his shoulders as he waves his hand in front of his body to indicate his complicated self. “Like this.” Alexis frowns.

“Unh-uh, David. I’ve seen you two together too many times, smiling and laughing. You’re never like that with _anyone_. You like him. A lot. And I’ve seen how he looks at you when you are straightening the jars of face cream for the millionth time and he thinks no one notices him watching you. I’m telling you, Patrick sees you—and he likes what he sees. David, he _kissed_ you!” 

David’s eyes grow unexpectedly wet even as he bites the inside of his cheek to contain the rest of his face. He purses his lips tightly and shakes his head, afraid to let any words escape. Not wanting to dare hope that his sister could be right. What if Patrick really did mean it? Maybe he was trying to tell David something, with those meaningful looks—but _were_ they meaningful looks? That bicep squeeze, that cheek kiss, that was not nothing. Right?

Alexis doesn’t say more, wanting to give David time to breathe and pull it together. That’s what David needs. And well, he tries. He does. 

But it isn’t five minutes later that the front door opens and _is it. . .?_ No, it’s not Patrick, just a customer. She walks around for a bit, finds the new display of organic exfoliating toners and then glances their way, looking confused and needy. David straightens his spine and walks over to help. He watches Alexis out of the corner of his eye as she samples one of the new pumpkin spice-flavored lip balms. He shakes his head as if to restart his brain and remember why the tea tree oil products would best suit someone with combination skin. In truth, he is surprised his brain and mouth are working at all when his internal monologue is basically screaming at him: _PATRICK, Patrick Brewer, PATRICK, Patrick has a fiancée, BUT ALSO Patrick said they were BOYFRIENDS, Patrick MIGHT be gay, Patrick might want HIM._

Somehow, amidst all this internal chaos, David makes the sale, wishes the woman a lovely day and snatches the lip balms away from his sister. The door chimes again and he looks up. It’s Patrick returning, alone.

“Patrick. Oh hey,” Alexis says. “Is everything okay? Are you . . .? And is she . . .?” She searches for the right words while David stands quietly by her side, unable to move, his eyes locked on Patrick’s face.

“Rachel has gone back to the motel,” Patrick says determinedly. “She has a long drive ahead of her so she’s staying the night and leaving in the morning. We talked and—well, we may need to talk more but—I said some things that needed to be said and I hope she understands.” 

Alexis’s eyes dart between her frozen brother and his shaken-up business partner who are locked in a wordless gaze.

“Okay. Yep,” she says, biting her lip. “So, I think maybe I should go? Check on Rachel?” Patrick nods. David flinches slightly, which Alexis notices right away. “And I’m sorry, Patrick, about surprising you like that—I didn’t know who she was. To you.”

“That’s okay, Alexis. Why would you know?”

“Uh-hmmh. And so I guess I’m also sorry about the next bit, but so I had promised I’d bring her as my little datie to the spooky house event tonight. I could cancel, but Patrick she seems sad. And if you really don’t mind, a Halloween party might make everyone feel better.”

“It’s fine, Alexis,” Patrick says. “It doesn’t matter. Rachel knows what I need her to know now. About me . . . and um, also David. If you want to bring her tonight, it’s fine. It’s good.” Alexis hums again, not sounding fully convinced.

“If David doesn’t mind being my boyfriend, that is?” Both sets of eyes turn towards David who awkwardly and silently nods under the weight of their collective gaze. “That settles it then,” he says. Alexis claps her hands together definitively. After she leaves with a light hair flip, David turns to Patrick and finally speaks, his thoughts bubbling out.

“Well. So. I guess I need to know. . . exactly what was all that? Did we just agree that we are . . .? We’re going to. . . ?” David trails off, unsure how to confirm that he and his seemingly straight-laced, lusciously forearmed business partner just made a decision to pretend to be boyfriends.

 _Boyfriends!_ _BOYFRIENDS! Are they in an open relationship? Are they exclusive? Will they be touching in public? Kissing?_ These questions race through David’s brain even as his body screams _RED-ALERT-GET OUT-ABORT-MISSION-OH-FUCK-TIME-TO-SAFEWORD_. 

How is he supposed to pretend to have feelings for Patrick when he actually _has_ feelings for Patrick—very real, very problematic feelings? And what if there is actually a chance that Patrick has feelings for _him_? David doesn’t know if he should banish Alexis’s words from his head or maybe, just maybe, let himself believe in the possibility.

Patrick is looking a little shell-shocked and that pulls David out of his own thoughts, as he realizes the situation Patrick has just committed himself to.

“Hey,” David says. “Are you sure this is the best idea? For you, I mean?” he asks. He feels the need to give Patrick an out if he is having second thoughts. “We don’t have to go through with this pretense, you know. We could go back to being just business partners tonight. If that’s what you wanted.”

Patrick’s eyes widen and he laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He shakes his head side to side.

“Oh man, wow. I’m sorry to put you on the spot like that, David. That wasn’t fair of me. I just need Rachel to believe I’m in a relationship or she’ll never stop trying to get us back together. I really didn’t mean to imply that you would want to be with me—or whatever—that we could be . . . something.” 

He pauses, seems to think it over and his face grows more flushed. “But as for my part, I really need this. She needs to think we’re together. Me and you.” David’s eyes search Patrick’s face for clarification. _Could he mean. . . ?_ Patrick looks worried, like maybe he’s said too much. He swallows. “Or—or not you, could be another person. It’s no big deal, David. See, I really just need a body—” he sputters.

“Then go to the morgue!” snaps David, his face changing again to something unreadable. 

Patrick blanches a little at David’s retort. He’s such an idiot. Now is not the time for joking and teasing. They probably need to talk about what happened. He should almost definitely apologize to David for roping him into this scheme, but, before he can, David says something about needing to check the breath mint inventory. 

Needing a minute alone, David stumbles back into the storeroom. Patrick had looked confused, even sad—but David isn’t even going to be able to process that right now. When he gets out of Patrick’s sight, he slouches onto the old plaid couch and heaves out a sigh which could almost turn into a sob.

Patrick just _needs a body,_ he doesn’t need David _._ He’s willing to pretend to be David’s boyfriend, even pretend to be gay—but that’s because it will put Rachel off. After the past few months of wondering about Patrick’s preferences, wondering if Patrick just might be flirting with him, David’s pretty sure that Patrick just made it clear that he is definitely not into him.

Of course he’s not.

“David? Hey. Is everything OK?” Patrick calls softly, not entering the space but just hovering in the doorway.

David wipes quickly at the edge of his eye. “Yes. I just needed to. . . grab this box,” he says, grabbing a box. “And now I have. So, yes.”

Patrick is clearly about to say more when the door chimes, indicating another customer’s arrival. Couldn’t they do something about all these customers interrupting the most dramatic moments of the day? David curses the doorbell as he sets down the box. They walk out together and—because Patrick’s eyes are still on David’s face—he sees the exact moment of facial recognition when David’s expression turns cold, empty. Scared? It’s not a look he’s ever seen on him before.

“Ohhhh, Deeeeeee Ro-o-o-se,” a deep, feminine voice calls from the front of the store. Patrick turns and takes in one of the most striking women he’s ever seen. Her beauty is dark; it’s sharp-edged. It’s icy—is that a thing? The temperature in the room definitely seems to drop as she glides toward the two men.

“Desdemona,” David chokes out her name. Close up now, Patrick gets a good look at David’s apparent ex. With her dramatic brows and dark wavy hair falling down her back, she looks more like David’s sister than fair Alexis ever has. Desdemona is dressed in a fitted red pantsuit that accentuates her killer figure and she carries herself with a mysterious intensity. Patrick can smell her perfume wafting across the counter, something not unlike the aftermath of a bergamot oil truck crashing into a cedar tree. 

“Oh,” she purrs, her eyes locked on to David, “it IS you. Here. In a kitschy little soap shop. In a lonely farm town that smells like. . . Well, I’d just have never thought it possible.” David feels his shoulders slump slightly as she spears him in her gaze. “D. Fucking. Rose. You look rested at least. Can’t imagine there’s much to get up to around here. And what about my girl A? Is she around? You both truly live here in this. . . place? I told Mama Rose this was definitely something I needed to see with my own eyes.”

“Hi. I’m Patrick,” he says, moving his body subtly in front of David’s. “Patrick Brewer.” David immediately feels Patrick’s presence shielding him from Desdemona. “You must be, I’m sorry, the TV person, right? What is it? Désirée Duncan?”

“Des-de-mo-na. Don-o-van,” she responds as if speaking to a simpleton. “And who would you be, sweetie? Farmer Brewer?” 

“Patrick. And I’m pretty sure you heard me say that.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, D, baby,” she says, turning her body towards David and tuning out Patrick. “Mama Rose basically begged us to bring the show here and once I knew I could see my little hothouse flower siblings again, how could I refuse? I’ll tell you what, we’ve been prepping the location—the Divine House, where we’re doing the popup tonight? That is one freaky place. And you know I know freaky, right, D. Rose?” 

“Patrick’s my boyfriend,” David blurts out.

“What?” Desdemona says, taken aback.

“That’s right,” Patrick says, wrapping an arm around David’s waist, his fingertips resting possessively on his hip. Patrick is warm, feels sturdy and safe. David just wants to melt into his side, to permanently attach himself there. “We’re partners,” Patrick says and David feels a thrill run through his body hearing his greatest fantasy expressed in Patrick’s own words. “ _We_ own Rose Apothecary and also we’re _partners_ —we’re together.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Desdemona says skeptically. “See, Moira never mentioned that. The sad town, yes. The little store, yes. But a farmer boytoy? No, that doesn’t sound right. From what I heard, you’ve been pretty lonely in this town, D. Rose. I was hoping that maybe while I’m in town we’d have time to catch up, to reconnect, maybe even to explore what levels of submission the loneliness has brought out in you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Patrick asks. He pulls David in a little tighter. 

“Oh, don’t you worry about it, Patty Brew,” she says dismissively. “D. Rose and I understand each other very well.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively and gives them a toothy grin. David nods, looking miserable but resigned.

“Why do you keep calling him that?”

“Because she knows I hate it,” David says with a shrug. Desdemona narrows her eyes at him, then throws her head back and lets out a sharp laugh.

“Well, it really has been so lovely to see you, Daa-aa-vid and Paa-aa-trick _._ I just had to come by and say hello before the event. Spread the word about the party. It’s meant to generate show buzz and maybe also bring a touch of excitement to this boring little place. So, I’ll see you there? Both of you, I guess? D. Rose and the supposed new boyfriend.” David folds into himself slightly and Patrick grips his waist, letting him know he’ll be right by his side.

“Perrrrfect,” Desdemona says, trilling her Rs, enjoying David’s discomfort. She turns and clicks her way to the door on her designer stilettos. “Ciao, boys,” she calls over her shoulder as she exits.

David and Patrick are finally alone in their store and neither of them is exactly sure what to say. “Whoa. What was that?” Patrick finally manages.

“Ugh, I believe I told you she was a monster. The devil incarnate. Or just a typical ex of mine, I guess,” David says. He feels deflated, once again unable to stand up for himself. Of course, he had never wanted to see Desdemona again, but he’d also fantasized about what he might say to her if he did—after she’d hurt Alexis, hurt his family, hurt him one too many times. 

Yet when she was right there in front of him, in his own store, he’d said nothing. He just let her tease him, and make fun of Patrick and basically do and say whatever she wanted. As usual. David flashes back to the longest weekend of his life spent at Desdemona’s beach house. It started out fun and sexy, his wrists and ankles bound in leather restraints but soon he was begging her for food and water. . . begging her to leave his family alone. . . begging for freedom . . . calling out his safe word while she just laughed.

He shakes his head to clear out the dark memories as Patrick watches him closely.

“David,” he begins tentatively, “are you sure about this party tonight? I know I kind of backed you into a corner on that one.” Patrick laughs nervously and continues, “Look, if it makes things too weird for you for us to pretend to be together, I understand. We—you—don’t have to.”

“Hmmmm,” says David, still reeling from the 1-2 punch of Rachel and Desdemona. Pretending to be Patrick’s boyfriend is probably a bad idea, he knows. His feelings for his business partner are not pretend. And Patrick pretending to be gay when he’s actually not is an awful—potentially homophobic—thing. They should both know better than that. The whole thing is fucked, really, and David should call it off right now. Before anyone does anything monumentally stupid. Before anyone gets really wrecked by this. That’s what he should do.

The thing is, with Desdemona in town, David has a legitimate problem. Even though she’s a horrible nightmare-person (which she proved again today), he’s also never been able to set boundaries with her. He could still be at risk of falling into bed with her again, something which would surely lead to disaster if not actual physical harm. And if he could say no to her, what then? What might she do? His mother invited her here and obviously she wants this TV job. What would the devil do if rejected? Who else would she hurt? Moira? Alexis? David shudders to think about what she is capable of when angry.

Still. With Patrick by his side, maybe he can make it through this night, through this situation, through Desdemona and the aftermath. He smiles shyly and puts his hand on Patrick’s forearm. Patrick beams.

“Then again,” Patrick says, with a more hopeful look. “If I can help you deal with your ex in town by being your boyfriend tonight, I’m happy to help.” He puts his hand on top of David’s and gives it a gentle squeeze. “And I appreciate you agreeing to help me with the Rachel situation. I really do.”

And just like that, David knows they are definitely going to be fake boyfriends.


	2. I’m Out of My Mind

Once David and Patrick have finally agreed that they are really, truly doing this, the rest of the day seems to fly by. More customers fill out the afternoon, and there is locking up, cleaning and reconciling the receipts. There is also a sense of excited energy hanging in the air between them, with more casual touching and flirting than usual. When they part, it’s with a lingering hug. Patrick promises to be by later to pick up David for their pretend date since it only makes sense for them to arrive together now. 

David leaves with a vague sense of foreboding, but Patrick—

Patrick seethes the entire drive home from the store. He’s decided that Desdemona might _actually_ be the devil like David had said. The derisive way she spoke to—and about—his business partner, his friend was unsettling enough in and of itself, but really, it was her total disregard at the discomfort she caused him that made Patrick’s blood boil. She actually seemed to enjoy making David feel bad, something Patrick cannot accept or forgive.

Yet, despite the anger he is feeling, he can’t help but also see the bright spot that came out of the day, as disastrously full of ex-girlfriends as it was. 

As he parks his car in Ray’s driveway, he resolves to make the most of tonight. He smiles in anticipation. _He has a date with David!_ Sure, it’s a _fake_ date, but. . . whatever. . . that’s just a minor detail. Maybe this could be the start of something real. It could be a cute story to tell people when someone asks future them how they got together. Thinking about a future with David causes a thrill to rush through his entire body. It’s everything he wants.

But other thoughts fight their way in as well. Patrick’s fledgling hopes are overtaken by creeping doubt. So much so that by the time he walks into the house, he is recalling how completely disbelieving Desdemona was at the very thought of David dating someone like him. How she’d called him “Farmer Brewer.” Climbing the stairs to his floral wallpapered bedroom, he wonders what the hell he was thinking. David couldn’t seriously be interested in him—an unremarkable business major with too corporate tastes in picture frames.

Could he?

No.

Patrick sits on his bed and leans his elbows on his thighs, his hands worrying in front of him. He has a fake date with David tonight. Fake. Nothing more. There’s no way David could want to be with him for real. Someone so average and buttoned-up. 

He’s shaken from this thought spiral by his ringing phone, his cousin Matthew’s smiling face filling the screen. Perfect timing, he thinks.

“So, what you're telling me is you’ve got a fictitious date tonight with David, the guy you’ve been crushing on hard—and haven’t shut up about—since you moved to Schitt’s Creek.”

“It’s not like it’s _imaginary_ ,” Patrick defended himself. “It’s real—in the sense that it’s an actual thing that is happening. But, it is pretend.”

His cousin’s laugh rings loudly through the speaker. Patrick can’t help but join in. It feels good to unpack the day to someone who knows him, to confide in someone he knows will not reveal this part of his life that he’s as yet been unable to share with his family at large. It’s a relief being able to voice his hopes and his fears at what tonight may hold. 

“I’m kidding myself, right? David is so worldly and experienced. Why would he want me? There’s no way he sees tonight as anything other than a mutually beneficial arrangement while our exes are in town. He couldn’t possibly see me as anything other than his business partner.” 

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. What about all this flirting I’ve been hearing about? That didn’t sound one-sided.”

“Maybe it was all in my head?” Patrick sighs. “Maybe I wasn’t doing it right?”

This elicits another laugh from Matthew. “Since I’ve seen you flirt, rather disastrously so, I would say you might be onto something. . . except, you like David a whole lot more than you ever liked Nancy Miller. So, I’m guessing you probably got it right this time.” 

Patrick smiles. “Okay, well, I should start getting ready for the party.”

“I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got somebody to impress tonight. And hey, Pat, I’m proud of you. For telling Rachel.”

“Thanks, man,” Patrick replies.

“You probably could have done it without inventing a fake boyfriend, but I’m proud of you nonetheless.”

“Okay. I think we’re done now.” 

“Happy Halloween, man.”

“Yeah. Happy Halloween.” Patrick hangs up smiling. Maybe Matthew is right. Maybe there is reason to hope. 

Back in his room at the motel, David is feeling very little hope that things will end up OK tonight. He’s going to fake-date Patrick. What even is that? A mistake is what it is. This isn’t going to go well once Patrick realizes what he’s agreed to. 

_This . . . and but also . . . then what if . . . and besides. . ._

David’s thoughts are spiraling when his phone ring-buzzes with an incoming call. He lays back on his bed, ignoring it. It pings with an incoming text, which he glances at. 

She Who Must Be Obeyed  


PICK UP YOUR PHONE  
  
Ugh. When did you change your name in my phone? Again?  
I NEED TO TALK TO YOU  
  


The phone rings again insistently. This time, David answers and puts Stevie on Facetime. “What!” he shrieks to his best friend with equal parts relief and annoyance as her face fills the screen. “Excuse me. Can I _help_ you? There’s a lot I’m dealing with over here!”

“You think I don’t know that? Why do you think I’m calling you? I text, don’t call, you know that. But— Oh. My. God. David. This morning, I rented a room to a hot little shorty called Rachel. Yeah, I think that might ring a bell? And just now, she and Alexis were here talking nonstop about how you AND PATRICK ARE DATING.”

As she says the last four words into the phone, there are four loud knocks at the door. David jumps. “Let me in!” Stevie calls from outside. David rolls his eyes, presses off on his phone and opens the door.

“What are you DOING?” he shrieks. “You scared the fuck out of me. My nerves can’t take any more today,” he says, clutching his chest. He drapes himself across his twin bed. Stevie sits cross-legged on Alexis’s bed, which is miraculously made for once.

“Okay, so what the fuck? Are you or are you not ‘romantically in business’ with Patrick?” Stevie’s words jab at David and he grimaces at her phrasing, punctuated by very suggestive, very dramatic air quotes. “Okay, if that look is a yes, when did this happen and why did I just now hear about it third-hand? If it’s a no, then why were Alexis and Rachel talking about you two as a couple?” 

“Oh god, Stevie, it’s a complete mess,” David says dramatically. 

Stevie nods equally dramatically, urging him to continue. “Of course it is. Spill.” 

“So, first, Rachel appeared like a perfect redheaded angel and Patrick kind of freaked out and he told her that he was gay and that we were together. Then Desdemona emerged from her demon-cave hellscape and I basically said the same thing—I mean the together part, she already knows my preferences, anyway whatever. Now we’re meant to show up at this haunted house tonight as dates. Not just dates, but as boyfriends. Stevie, this is a slow-moving train wreck.”

“But it doesn’t have to be, David!” Stevie says. “I mean my first question is obviously who the fuck is Rachel but I’m guessing from context that she must be an ex of Patrick’s?” David mouths the word _fiancée._ “Yeah? Oh shit. Okay and I know Desdemona is that ex who you really don’t like to talk about.” David stage-whispers _Satan_.

“So you’re fake-dating to fool both your exes? To get them to leave you alone?” David nods, his face twisted. “Huh. Okay, that’s fine. But David, what about your very real feelings for Patrick?”

“I don’t know. What about them?” he squeaks. “I don’t know what to do about any of this. I guess I— maybe I thought for a hot minute this is what Patrick wants for real, that maybe he felt something too—but no, it can’t be. Ugh. I blame Alexis for putting ideas in my head.”

“Are you really sure about that though?” she challenges, with her eyes narrowing.

“Patrick said—he told me—it wasn’t about me at all. He just needs _a body_ , Stevie. Yeah. So I need to remember that when we go to the party and whatever we do. It’s all fake. I just need to make it through the night and hope that I don’t completely drive Patrick away to the extent that he quits Rose Apothecary . . . oh god, do you think that’s a possibility?” David jumps up and begins to circle around the room, his hands actively punctuating every word and thought.

“David, breathe,” Stevie says. She stands and comes over to him, reaches out, rubs her hands up and down his soft-sweatered arms. The touch grounds him and he stops pacing. “Okay, listen. Do I think it’s a possibility that you two acting like you’re dating will scare Patrick and he’ll run away from the business? No. Now do I think it’s a real possibility that he orchestrated this whole thing because he wants to bone you as much as you want to bone him? Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

“Helpful,” David mutters, but he does smirk-smile at the possibility. “But—”

“David, this is your chance. You already know you two have insane chemistry, your flirting is off the charts—shh, don’t deny it. It’s all kinds of gross for the rest of us,” she says, pantomiming a gagging motion. “In a lot of ways, it’s like the perfect opportunity has just been dropped in your lap.”

David huffs as she continues, “Look. I’ve gotta go finish the rest of the rooms but I’m leaving with this advice: Go for it. If you’re supposed to be dating? Then you can kiss him, touch him, show him just how things would be if you were together. Do that. Let him know what he’s missing and what could be if he plays his cards right.”

“Oh I don’t think—” 

“You’re a catch, David. He’d be lucky to have you,” she says with such affection that David just gapes at her. 

“Who _are_ you?” he asks. 

“Okay. Enough,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink. “You know that I’m incapable of faking sincerity. Well, I’m also pretty much incapable of sincerity in general. So I believe I’ve hit my limit of positive comments about you and your love life for the day.”

“Thank you,” David says softly. He reaches out and pulls her into a hug.

“Yep, yep, that’s definitely the limit,” she says, squeezing him tight for just a moment and then wriggling out of his grasp. “I believe my work here is done,” she calls out as she strolls out of the room. 

David sinks back down to the bed and groans from a deep place inside. It can’t be that easy, can it? Just pretend to be boyfriends with Patrick for a night and hope that something more comes from that? Surely that’s not going to happen. They do have great chemistry—Stevie isn’t wrong—but there’s the simple, unavoidable fact that Patrick is not gay. Right? Definitely not. Or David is pretty sure not. For all he knows, by the end of the night, Patrick will be getting back together with lovely Rachel and David would have just been the placeholder—the body—needed to spur the lovers to make up.

His mind races from one possibility to the next, ecstasy to disaster and back again. David allows himself exactly 10 more minutes to unravel before he gets up and moves toward the closet, knowing that no matter what the night brings, Patrick will be picking him up very soon and he still needs to get into his Halloween costume. He can’t stop himself from wondering what Patrick will think when he sees it. It was chosen, obviously, before he knew he’d be Patrick’s date at the haunted house but he still has some hopes about the reaction he might inspire. 

David reaches for the hair straightener.


	3. If We Don’t Do This Today, There Goes a Day

Gravel crunches under the tires of Patrick’s car as he comes to a stop outside the Rosebud Motel. He taps his hands nervously against the steering wheel for a moment while he steels himself for the possibilities that tonight could bring. He’s about to get out of the car when the door to Room 8 opens and David emerges—

And holy hell. Patrick’s mouth falls open—

David is in black leather head to toe. A sleek jacket that looks impossibly soft, tight pants that sit low on his hips, hugging them perfectly, shit-kicking combat boots, and. . .and apparently _nothing else_. No shirt under the jacket, just David’s tanned chest covered with a glorious lush layer of dark hair.

Patrick watches David as he approaches the car, his eyes following in rapt attention, only able to take them off David’s torso for a moment to sweep up to his face and take in the vampire makeup he’s applied—dark liner ringing his eyes, bright red blood in the corners of his mouth. His hair appears straighter and swooped up higher than usual. Patrick cannot ignore the way his body is reacting to the visual as a flash of arousal low in his stomach registers its interest. Over the past months Patrick has come to recognize this feeling and now solely associates it with his business partner. But usually it’s a reaction to David when he’s covered up in a designer sweater. He’s absolutely never seen David look like this before—and his body is letting him know that. 

David smiles at Patrick through the windshield as he approaches the car. He is dressed in blue (of course) but in the dark and from this distance David can’t quite make out who he is supposed to be. He can feel, then see, Patrick watching him, his head turning to follow his path towards the car. _Fuck_. This costume is probably too much. Because David is always too much. He pulls the jacket lapels together, trying to cover his chest, as he opens the door and folds himself into the passenger seat.

“Hi,” he says softly, clicking his seatbelt into place.

“Hi,” Patrick replies.

David’s eyes widen as he takes in Patrick’s costume. He’s wearing some sort of sports ensemble with a bird on the front. It’s powder blue and _very_ form-fitting. The shirt is tight across Patrick’s chest and the royal blue and white trimmed v-neck disappointingly falls too shallow for David to get a decent glimpse of Patrick’s chest. He’s not sure what sport it’s supposed to be for, but he guesses from the way the short sleeves hug snugly to Patrick’s biceps that it’s probably pretty restrictive in terms of precision arm movement and thus not at all conducive to hitting a touchdown. It’s probably for one of those kicking sports, he reasons. 

He rakes his eyes down Patrick’s body and. . . Oh. My. God. Maybe it’s not for a kicking sport then. For much the same reason as why the shirt wouldn’t work for tennis. Because his thighs, which David can attest always look spectacular when encased in tight mid-range denim, are now covered in a stretch of pale blue fabric that isn’t leaving anything at all to his imagination. And David prides himself on his imagination.

Patrick feels his face flush under David’s attention. He’s not entirely sure he’s reading David’s face correctly, but it seems like David is having a positive reaction. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking and his business partner/fake boyfriend is actually just trying to parse his costume? David does seem to be staring at his thigh—please let him be looking at his thigh and not something else in that general vicinity—for longer than is strictly necessary to determine that he’s wearing a retro Blue Jays baseball uniform. 

Emboldened by David’s eyes on him, Patrick lets his own eyes wander in return, letting them sweep up David’s body, his look is a thing to behold in such close proximity.

“Wow, you look. . .” Patrick trails off, unsure how to articulate just how ridiculously sexy he finds David in this moment without actually saying those words. Out loud. Like a newly out idiot.

“Too much?” David fills in the pause, fidgeting again with the jacket to try to make it cover more of his chest. “I knew when I couldn’t find the tank that I’d worn before with this, that going bare chested was probably a mistake. I—I can go back inside and cover up. You must think—” He sighs. “I mean, Desdemona is going to know I’m trying to look like I don’t care.” 

“Don’t you dare change a thing.” Patrick rests his hand on David’s arm, the pressure calming his unsure and fidgeting hands. “You look really . . . good. . . and Desdemona is going to eat her heart out.” Patrick offers David a reassuring smile. His disappointment to learn that David went to all this effort for his ex and not for him doesn’t register at all with David. Instead, David’s eyes drop from Patrick’s face to where his hand rests on David’s arm then back up again.

“So, I’m wondering if we should kiss and touch each other,” David says, his head nodding towards Patrick’s hand.

“Um, what?” Patrick drops his hand and turns bright red, his eyes immediately going to David’s perfect plump lips.

“Oh sorry. What I mean is should we do some of these things here before we leave? Now? If we’re going to convincingly be dating at this party, we would have touched and kissed before.”

“I—yes. That makes sense, David. We should practice. Touching. And kissing. Because we want to be convincing,” he says in a low, trembly voice.

Patrick’s eyes are big and very loud and David tries to figure out what he’s seeing there. Is he hopeful? Could it be about David? Or is it just hope for them to successfully fool his ex? They still haven’t really talked about the Rachel situation or why Patrick needs so badly for her to believe they are together.

David hears a door closing in the distance and over Patrick’s shoulder he sees Rachel leaving Room 4. As she gets closer, David can see she’s noticed Patrick’s car. That she’s noticed the two of them, together . . . inside the car. From his periphery, he sees her pause, and just stand there on the concrete out the front of his parents’ room. Frozen in place. He refocuses on Patrick’s face and in his expressions David can practically hear his sensible business partner’s internal debate about the pros and cons of practicing kissing. That’s when Rachel takes a tentative step forward, towards the car and not the motel room.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

David nods in time to the repeated string of profanity in his head. Is he going to do this? It’s not as though he hasn’t already kissed, like, a thousand people. But those people weren’t Patrick. They weren’t people who he respected and thought were nice. This kiss has the potential to hurt him in a way that all the others hadn’t. And yet, if he doesn’t make this happen now, then Rachel will be upon them. Fuck! He doesn’t know what to do and time is running out. But then he remembers what Patrick told him in the store—that he really needs this. For Rachel to think they are together. Fuck it. Decision made. If this is what Patrick needs, then David’s going to do whatever he can to help. 

With his eyes briefly flicking toward Rachel’s approaching figure before coming to rest back on Patrick’s face, David leans in. His hand wraps around Patrick’s neck. Their lips touch. It’s soft. And good. So very good. 

David is fucked.

Patrick’s mind is racing a million miles an hour. On the one hand, he _really_ wants to kiss David. On the other hand, he _really_ wants the first time they kiss to mean something. But who’s to say it _wouldn’t_ mean something? Who’s to say— 

The thought is cut short as movement catches Patrick attention. David is nodding his head determinedly. David is leaning toward him, the seat belt extending as his body breaches Patrick’s space. For a horrifying second, Patrick worries the seat belt will catch and hold him back. Driven by instinct, he leans in so he can meet David partway. His eyes quickly flit down to David’s lips then back to his eyes. He feels David’s large hand on his neck, the fingertips applying a firm pressure to his nape while David’s thumb rests on his cheek. He angles Patrick’s head towards his and their lips meet. David drives the kiss. The presence of his hand behind Patrick’s neck asserts a subtle pressure that translates into their lips pressed firm against each other. David’s stubble is scratchy against Patrick’s skin. It is a wholly different experience than any other kiss Patrick’s ever had. 

_Oh._ So, _this_ is what kissing is supposed to feel like.

It only lasts five seconds but those seconds might be the most transformative of Patrick’s life. As they pull away from each other, Patrick’s mouth is slightly slack, the tiniest of smiles form at the corners of his lips. He’s silent a moment, his gaze downcast and his face a riot of micro-expressions. David clears his throat. Patrick continues to sort through his emotions for another second before finally turning to look at David. 

He wants to tell David how much he means to him. He wants to confess all the times he’s longed for them to have kissed just like that. He wants to know if David felt it too. He wants so much. He wants to say it all, but instead he says—

“Thank you.” 

“For what?” David asks.

For _everything_. For leaving him those stoned voicemails. For being open to entertaining his investment offer. For making the first move and kissing him now, even when he knows Patrick is newly out and nervous and has never done that before. With a guy.

“I was getting a little scared we were going to get to the party without us having done that. So, uh, thank you for, um, making that happen for us.”

“Well, um, fortunately, I am a very generous person. So.” David pauses for a beat then continues, “And now we’ve gotten that out of the way, it won’t be a big deal when we have to do it at the party.” 

Patrick’s heart sinks. He just had the most monumental kiss of his life, and apparently, to David, it was all pretend. He hears a noise to his left and turns to see Alexis opening the door to Room 8, excitedly booping Rachel on the nose before ushering her inside. The realization dawns on him then that Rachel probably saw them kiss. 

“Plus,” David continues as Patrick turns away from the closing motel room door, “We need Rachel and Desdemona to really believe our relationship.” He curls his index and middle fingers forming air quotes around the word relationship. “So it, um, made sense for us to practice our PDA where Rachel could see. She was heading towards the car and I figured you’d want to avoid that. So. . . you’re welcome? I guess.”

“Thank you,” Patrick says, but this time his voice is tight and clipped. 

“And hey, as fake kisses go, it was nice, though, right?” David asks. It felt more than nice to him. It felt monumental but that seems like the wrong thing to confess to his most likely straight business partner. If he doesn’t want to scare him off forever.

“Uh-huh, yeah. That was definitely the best fake kiss I’ve ever had.” Patrick’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

As Patrick turns the key in the ignition, David’s lips curl into the corner of one cheek, his signature smirk. “The best? Well, isn’t that a compliment? Should I ask how many fake kisses you’ve had?” Teasing and light. This is familiar and safe territory. 

“Not if you’re looking for an ego boost?” Patrick retorts, flicking a quick glance at David before returning his eyes to the road.

“Mmmkay, I think that’s enough out of you.” 

This time, the grin on Patrick’s face is a genuine one. God, he has it bad. He keeps stealing quick glances at David out of the corner of his eye as he drives them to the party. 

When they finally arrive, Patrick is shocked by the size of the Divine House (and its grounds) as he drives up the long driveway. Sure, he’s seen it before but from a distance it always looked like a typical old rundown rural house, like others that proliferate Schitt’s Creek and the surrounding Elms. Now, as they get closer to the formidable structure, he notices more fully just how grand this home must have once been for the area. There is a definite air of prestige about the place despite the tired and dusty façade that, clearly yes, is in need of several new coats of paint and a _very_ deep clean. But it has good bones and interesting architectural details. He decides that if the garden were pruned back a little, it could look quite charming. 

Except, Patrick can see that “charming” is not what this show of Desdemona’s is looking for. Rather, the overgrown garden and peeling paint lends itself to tales of ghosts and spooky goings-on. He continues on toward the field off to the side of the house that is being used as a parking lot for the evening. Alongside the familiar cars belonging to the Schitt’s Creek residents, there are also several trailers and tents. He notices a nondescript sign with a disclaimer that all entrants are giving their permission to be filmed as he climbs the stairs to the grand entry doors. These indicators aside, the house itself appears remarkably absent of cameras and other telltale signs of a television production. 

The atmosphere inside the house is vaguely disquieting but the Halloween decorations are just that, obvious decorations and although Patrick appreciates the effort involved in hanging fake spider webs, he sees nothing that screams out haunted house to him. Which is a shame because he had hoped for jump scares and flickering lights that might just be enough to warrant him placing a comforting arm around David’s waist. 

They walk through the dimly lit foyer into a large ballroom where a cocktail party is in full swing. Patrick nods at Twyla—who is talking to Bob and some woman in a rubber dress—as they pass. David spies a couple of empty stools at a bar table in a corner of the room and steers them in that direction, giving Roland and Jocelyn a wide berth. She’s wearing a Streep-inspired Cruella de Vil coat and wig; He’s dressed in a large plush dalmation costume. Honestly, David had had quite enough of furries after that weekend with the Scissor Sisters in Harajuku, _thankyouverymuch_. He looks around at the many and varied people milling there. He recognizes far too many of them. Or more to the point, they can recognize him, which is the exact opposite of what he needs with Desdemona in town. Any one of them could reveal that he and Patrick are just pretending to be a couple. Ugh. Why did he come again? As soon as he found out who was throwing this party he should have planned on popping a pill, crying a bit and falling asleep early, instead of subjecting himself to this torture. 

Next to him, Patrick shifts his stool a little closer, his knee knocking against David’s under the table. Patrick lays his hand on the tabletop momentarily, hesitating briefly before deciding to move it, letting it come to rest on top of David’s hand. His fingers slide into the spaces between David’s. 

The sensation draws David’s immediate attention away from the room and down to Patrick’s lightly calloused fingers stroking a reassuring pattern on his skin. He looks up to see Patrick staring at their connected hands, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. David thinks he looks sad. Wistful, maybe? Which makes absolutely no sense. When Patrick finally looks up from their hands, he shrugs at David’s raised and questioning eyebrow. 

It’s at this moment, from over Patrick’s shoulder, that David sees Ray waving enthusiastically at him from across the room. Ray is dressed in a cheap polyester vampire costume. The cape—with a red gaudy satin contrast on the underside—is creased from where it has been folded in the packaging. He grins his fake fangs at David and gestures between the two of them clearly trying to make some sort of point about their costumes. David wants no part of whatever conversation Ray is trying to engage him in from across the group of people standing between them. David cringes. 

“I’m gonna need a stiff drink to get through this. Stiff.” 

“Oh. Sure.” Patrick immediately pulls his hand back away from David’s. 

“Mmkay, I’m going to find the bar. You watch our seats and I’ll bring back some liquid fortification.”

He watches as David walks away, gliding through the crowd smoothly, so much like pure sex in his leather suit. Patrick shakes his head, thinking yet again how far in over his head he is tonight.

As he tries to regain his composure, Patrick sees dark features and black leather approaching. Only this time, the striking beauty and dramatic eyebrows don’t belong to David. Objectively, Patrick can see that Desdemona wears the outfit well. It’s sexy, sure, although it doesn’t have the same effect on him as it obviously does on the people whose heads turn to watch as she walks his way. The ultra-short, tight leather corset dress hugs her curves, accentuating her hips and cleavage and a pair of long leather gloves draw the eyes up her toned arms, revealing the edges of an intricate tattoo sleeve. Her wild curls are smoothed down and pulled back in a sleek pony.

“Well, if it isn’t D. Rose’s _boyfriend_ —” Desdemona takes a seat on the empty stool, crossing her long legs and leaning towards Patrick. She encroaches on his space so much that Patrick wouldn’t be surprised if she started climbing into his lap next. Patrick edges back on his stool. He feels the weight of her gaze as she casts a look up his body, assessing. “And wearing a Blue Jays uniform, no less? I see you two share a wealth of common interests.” She smirks derisively. “D. Rose has fucked his way through more than one sports team if I’m remembering correctly.” Patrick bristles. “Oh, wait, that might have been A.”

“Since neither of them are here, I’m not entirely sure why _you_ feel the need to be,” Patrick says through gritted teeth. “I’m sure they can find you if either wants to reminisce with you about old times.”

“Don’t fret, Patty, I’m not up to anything naughty. Just getting to know the locals. Scouting for talent.” She runs a gloved finger up his arm and leans in closer. “This is quite the crappy little town my Roses have found themselves in. No pun intended. But still there are plenty of prospects from what I can see.” 

She holds his eye contact for a second before turning away. Patrick follows her gaze over his shoulder and sees Stevie talking to an unreasonably hot guy. She has her dark wavy hair down and is wearing bright red lipstick and a flowy red dress with a bit of cleavage—very out of character for the Stevie he knows. Meanwhile the guy—who is handsome in a tall, scruffy way—is pulling off the classic white John Travolta disco-era suit, complete with gold chains and a black polyester shirt unbuttoned past his sternum _._ He seems to be trying to get her out on the dance floor. Patrick realizes that they are wearing a couples costume (obviously inspired by the movie _Saturday Night Fever_ ) and he’s struck with the fact that there are things he just doesn’t know about people in this place. Clearly, Stevie has some secrets. David probably still has plenty too. 

Somehow Patrick can’t think of any information that he could learn about David Rose that would make him think he’s anything less than extraordinary.

“I could have some fun in this town,” Desdemona says, nodding towards the striking couple, as Patrick turns back to meet her predatory eyes. He meets her challenging gaze with his own stubborn look. 

Returning from the bar, David stops in his tracks when he sees his evil ex cozied up to Patrick. She runs a finger along his arm and crowds in even closer. _What the fuck?_ David throws back his vodka martini, emptying it in one gulp. He looks around and unburdens himself of the empty glass. When he turns back, Patrick is gazing steadily into her eyes and the she-devil leans in closer to him. David isn’t close enough to hear what they are talking about but he doesn’t like the look of this at all. Still, it’s not like David can blame Patrick, Desdemona is hot as— _what the actual fuck_? He can’t believe she is wearing _that_. 

“Sorry, why are you here?” Patrick asks, maintaining eye contact with her.

“To promote my TV show, of course.” She lets out a laugh and gestures to the room. “It’s why we’re all here. And when Mama Rose reached out and insisted that I simply must come and explore this little _hamlet in which she currently is_. . .” Desdemona raises her voice and mimics Moira’s unique diction. “Well, my little farmer, I could hardly turn down the perfect opportunity to catch up with some old friends, could I?

“It seems to me David doesn’t consider you a friend.”

“Hmmm. Well, I guess you would know. I was never one for pillow talk but D. Rose? He sure liked to share. He never knew when to shut up.”

“What David and I talk about in bed, is really none of your concern,” Patrick says, choking just a bit to get out the words “in bed.” Desdemona seems to notice.

“Well, that is a shame. I’m sure we three could find a lot of things to. . . _talk_. . . about.” Patrick shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The more time he spends with Desdemona, the less he likes her. “I suppose you’ve gotten to know my dear Roses well. They do seem to be thriving here.” She drops her hand to Patrick’s upper thigh, “D. Rose seems to have found a home here. Or so he says.” She squeezes Patrick’s thigh. He covers her hand in his for a fraction of a second before taking hold of her wrist and returning her hand to the table. She raises an eyebrow at Patrick.

David, meanwhile, is still watching and reeling. He thought that since he’d likened Desdemona to the actual devil, Patrick would have the sense to keep it in his pants. Surely her breasts and her hair and her general sex goddess vibe isn’t going to blind Patrick to her true form. But now they are practically all over each other, cuddled together exchanging quiet conversation, so who knows? Stevie must be wrong because if Patrick is truly into him like she said then he wouldn’t be seconds away from making out with Desdemona right now. This is not how tonight was supposed to go. Patrick was supposed to protect him from his evil ex’s clutches, keep him from being lured back between her sheets, but, yep, now that succubus is reaching under the table. David knows what that means. _Fuuuuuuck!_ He downs the second vodka he is carrying. He looks from the empty glass back to the cozy scene unfolding between his ex and his crush then turns and heads back to the bar.

Desdemona takes no mind of Patrick’s rebuffal, angling her body further towards him. “By all accounts, Moira is making a name for herself on the local town council. Who knew she would be so adept at small potato rural governance? There must be something that makes her so well suited to local politics. Is she making side deals? Maybe skimming just a little off the top? And what of my free-spirited A? What has she been up to? Or who?” Desdemona leers, and Patrick’s internal alarm bells increase to deafening. This woman is persistent. Her physical advances are one thing, but she clearly has a dark agenda where the Roses are concerned. Patrick’s eyes scan the room, searching for David. He’s nowhere to be seen.

It’s at this precise moment that Mrs. Rose chooses to interrupt their conversation. Patrick does a double take as she comes to a stop opposite him. Moira is dressed as, well, Patrick isn’t entirely sure what she’s dressed as. But he’s almost certain he’s seen that wig before. It’s hard to miss. Her eyes pass over Patrick, taking note of his presence but dismissing him immediately in favor of Desdemona. Which is probably for the best. Her calling him Peter in front of David’s ex would require some explaining. 

“Well, hello, you!” Moira sweeps open her arms, spreading them wide in a welcoming gesture, an approximation of someone awaiting an embrace. Except neither woman moves to step into the hug. David’s mom instead twists her body a little and strikes a magnificent pose. “Desi, my dear friend, aren’t you a sight for aching oculars,” she declares.

“Mama Rose—” Desdemona makes a show of sweeping an appraising gaze up Moira’s body. “A masterpiece, as always. Hiding away in this tiny town has done nothing to diminish your star appeal.” She leans in to exchange air kisses with Mrs. Rose. 

“Speaking of self-luminous celestial bodies, how fortuitous for them to have aligned for us both. . . especially with yours on such a meteoric trajectory. I’m feeling utterly beatific to have you here.” 

“Well the feeling is mutual. I’ve loved seeing you all . . . living here.” 

“To think you were just a scrappy little novice when last we met. Look. At. You. Now. A dollop of cream that has risen to the apex.” 

Patrick repositions his stool away from Desdemona. He briefly considers using Mrs. Rose’s appearance as cover for his own escape, but his curiosity gets the better of him. Forewarned is forearmed after all. 

As the women continue on in flattery, cajolery, and encomium, Moira wastes no time in offering her “merchandisable eminence” and “local savoir faire” as host for the Divine House episode of Desdemona’s spooky house show. Patrick still isn’t sure exactly of the premise of the show or how this event—which is a decent enough cocktail party but not much of a haunted house—is even meant to promote it. This is shaping up to be a weird night.

“Oh, Moira, darling, please tell me you haven’t been out of the game for so long that you didn’t know the series is already in the can? Save for a few quick pieces to camera and crowd testimonials from our immersive experience tonight, we are wrapped.” 

Patrick sees the moment that Mrs. Rose’s dreams are dashed, observes her face fall—barely perceptible and lasting only microseconds. She recovers her usual façade quickly and plays off her enquiry as idle curiosity. Patrick scrutinizes Desdemona, thinks that she saw it, too. Knows that she did when she next speaks.

“The industry has been robbed of your presence for too long. We are bereft at where you have ended up. But there are a few projects I’m working on—one in particular, I think you would be perfect for.” 

At that, Mrs. Rose lights up again and starts waxing poetic in only the way that she can about muses and serendipity and the scheduling of a working brunch. 

Patrick looks up and sees David cutting through the people toward their table. Patrick shakes his head, leaves the women behind, and meets David out on the edge of the dance floor.

“I see you had company,” David says.

“I see you found drinks.” Patrick looks up and smiles at David. “Is one of those for me?”

David hands the glass over. Patrick raises it and waits for David to follow suit. “Happy Halloween, fake boyfriend,” Patrick says as he clinks his glass against David’s.

“Happy Halloween,” David echoes. He watches as Patrick brings the glass to his lips, watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows down the liquor. David downs his third martini of the night. He seriously needs to quench this particular thirst.

He looks over to where his mother and ex are talking. Patrick follows his gaze.

“Apparently Desdemona has a project that would be _perfect for your mom.”_

David huffs. “I’ve heard that before.”

“I don’t trust her,” Patrick says matter-of-factly.

David looks at him, surprised. Maybe Patrick wasn’t as all over Desdemona as he thought. Maybe he read that situation wrong. Maybe. He watches the two women continuing to talk animatedly. 

“Ugh, this is going to be another problem I have to, um, mop up in the morning. Isn’t it? Well, I suppose it’s my own fault for somehow remaining in sights of the she-devil.”

“Hey,” Patrick takes hold of David’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Everything will be all right. You’re not the same person as you were back then. None of you are.”

David squeezes back before deciding to shake off his conniving ex-girlfriend drama. Literally. He withdraws his hand from Patrick’s and waves it erratically as his torso shimmies and shakes. Patrick is transfixed by the movement of muscle and taut skin, by the way the waistline of David’s pants—the hipline, really—drops ever so slightly exposing even more skin as David wriggles his body. David lets out a low exasperated noise as his body returns to stationary with a final shoulder shimmy.

“I cannot believe she’s wearing _that_ ,” David huffs. “I bet she knows exactly the last time I saw her in that dominatrix getup. It, uh, was hardly a weekend I’m ever going to forget.”

Patrick turns to take another look at what Desdemona is wearing. Uh-huh, yup, he sees it now.

“At least she had the class to leave the riding crop at home.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, “it’s time to dance.” He grins up at David through his lashes as he takes away his empty glass. He threads their fingers together and leads David into the middle of the dance floor, far away from the table occupied by his ex and his mother. Patrick hesitates for a second before wrapping his arm around David’s waist. The soft leather of David’s jacket is warm under his skin.

David lets himself enjoy the feeling of Patrick’s arms around him. Solid and reassuring. He remembers what Stevie said—how pretending to be boyfriends was the perfect chance to show Patrick what he could have. He brings his own arms around Patrick’s neck and snuggles in closer. The sports hat bumps into his neck and Patrick chuckles. David feels more than a physical loss as Patrick withdraws his arms to spin the hat back-to-front. Frankly, it should be utterly incorrect, but instead David finds himself charmed. This time, when Patrick puts his arms around David’s waist, he slides them under the jacket.


	4. Would You Just Let It Happen Already

When Alexis and Rachel arrive at the party, they are two girls in need of a night out.

They’d been bonding for the past couple of hours after Alexis had invited herself into Rachel’s motel room and just hadn’t stopped talking since. 

“Rach,” Alexis said, soothingly, “I think you’ve been suffering from a bit of a dry spell. And maybe you’ve taken too much time for yourself. It’s time to get you back out there, girl. What kind of adventure should we be looking for tonight?” Alexis gave her an enthusiastic wink that was really more of a blink.

“Oh, uh, I mean I came to town to find Patrick and then I thought we’d fall back into being _us_ , the way we always have. But— I didn’t expect to see him with David. I didn’t know he . . . although it actually kind of makes sense that he is. . . and they are. . .” 

Alexis twirled her hair in her fingers and watched Rachel’s face journey on the way to the unfamiliar word. 

“Um. . . boyfriends?” Rachel finished. Alexis nodded vigorously.

“Oh, right! I mean, yes, they are definitely boyfriends. Patrick and my brother David. Mmm-hmm. Yup yup. But anyway, you said yourself that things between you and Patrick had never really worked.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You were just saying that? I’m pretty sure? That you’d been engaged but maybe you’d rejected him a few times before and even though you now find you have—or you _still_ have—some feelings for him, now it’s too late and he’s moved on. . .” Alexis’s words trailed off as she looked into the distance, her eyes growing cloudy. She shook her head slightly and refocused her gaze on Rachel.

“Anyway, girl, that’s why we have to get _you_ out there to meet new people.” Alexis held Rachel’s delicate wrists in her hands as she made intense eye contact. “I see before me a beautiful young woman in her prime who deserves every happiness. And so— we are going to that spooky little Halloween party tonight together. Ooh, come back to my room, Rach, I have a dress that will be a very cute look for you! And by the end of the night, I’m sure I’ll. . . um, I mean, _you’ll_ feel better about _Te_ — t- _tender,_ tender sweet _Patrick_.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed with equal parts confusion and kindness. “Alexis, are you sure this is just about me and Patrick?” she asked gently. “Because if there’s something else you want to talk about, I’m a good listener.”

“Oh, well. Aren’t you just the sweetest thing? But no. I’m just saying that you’ll feel better after tonight. We’re gonna show up at this event, look hot and meet some super fun new people,” Alexis said. 

Then she added, more subdued, as an aside: “Also, there’s some weird thing going on with David’s ex. Like, _why_ is Des here? She’s pretty sneaky. I probably need to go to keep an eye on David. And my mom. They both rely on me to take care of them.”

A few hours later, here they are at the Divine House event, looking hot and ready for their girls’ night out—Alexis in an all-white lace minidress and boots, a fuzzy angel’s halo accenting her blonde tresses, and Rachel wearing Alexis’s third favorite festival dress and her cutest hair feathers. They work their way through the crowd in the Halloween-decorated ballroom and feel the eyes on them, two beautiful young women in their prime. Alexis snags two champagne flutes from a roaming catering staff member dressed as a zombie and they sit down at a cocktail table.

“Oh, isn’t this _fun_ ,” says Alexis, clinking her glass against Rachel’s and scanning the room. “So many cuties. I mean, actually it’s hard to tell with the masks and costumes and makeup, but I assume there have to be some cuties out there somewhere. See anyone that looks interesting, Rach?”

Rachel surveys the room of costumed partygoers and right away notices David and Patrick on the dance floor. They are in a crowd of people but she easily spots the outfits she’d caught a glimpse of when she saw them necking in the motel parking lot. David is devastatingly gorgeous in leather with his bare chest evident, and her Patrick— _no Rachel, no, not anymore_ —is in a vintage baseball uniform, like the die-hard Jays fan she’s known half her life. His cap is perched backwards on his head and he gazes up at his taller partner, his arms enveloping David’s waist while David’s hands link behind Patrick’s neck. Rachel sees the silver rings on David’s fingers glinting in the lights on the dance floor. They both look utterly entranced.

Dancing with David nearly undoes Patrick. Getting to hold him close, with David practically half-naked—all that glorious chest hair on display and occasional glimpses of his pecs, his nipples, his navel, the hair leading temptingly down to the low-slung waistband of his tight pants. Patrick has to keep moving his own lower half away so that it isn’t extremely obvious that he’s growing hard just being this close and touching David. Smelling David. Patrick’s senses are overwhelmed and overstimulated in the best way—maybe the best way of his entire life.

Rachel feels a sharp pang like someone thumped her in her solar plexus as she watches the two men sway, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in each other’s eyes. “Yeah, um, there’s Patrick,” she says, clearing her throat, “and David.”

“Ohmygod, really? That’s so great—I mean, uh well no, mmm, not so great,” Alexis says, remembering Rachel’s involvement. “What I mean is that yes, it’s _great for them, of course_ , because of them being boyfriends. But for you, well, we’re gonna need you to lock that box up and to start looking ahead. Not back at the past but toward the fu—” she stops mid-word as she sees a fit, cheerful-looking man dressed in silk pajamas and bathrobe approaching them. 

“Oh, um. Hi,” she says to him shyly. Fondly.

“Well, _halo_ there, Alexis!” he responds with obvious enthusiasm. “Don’t you just look heaven-sent?” Alexis preens and smooths down her lacy dress.

“Aww, Ted! This is Rachel, my new bestie,” Alexis purrs. “Rach, this is my— um, this is Ted. . . I, uh, work in his office? He’s a vet? Except tonight when . . . oh well, look at YOU, Mr. Mullens, with the silk PJs and robe. Ted! Are you supposed to be Hef?”

“ _Hugh_ know it!” Ted retorts. Alexis giggles as Ted pulls out a chair to join them at the table. “This party is so crowded and—to be honest—I find this house to be just a little creepy. So it’s really great to see a friendly face here, Alexis—and of course to meet a new friendly face, Rachel,” says Ted. Alexis smiles at him and Rachel does too, taking a sip of her champagne.

“Love that!” Alexis says. “But did you come alone? Because I thought—you and Heather? Or are you two maybe—”

“Oh yeah, right. No, Heather couldn’t make it. She’s so busy and she’s always _goat_ to do something. But seriously, running a farm is pretty time-consuming. I help out as much as I can, you know, trying to be a good boyfriend. But sometimes you have to let the _boy_ out to _play_ too—get it, because _Playboy?_ ” He moves his shoulders in an approximation of a shimmy and Alexis lets out a high-pitched squeal and slaps him playfully on the arm. “Ted!”

They all chat for a bit but after a while Rachel, sensing that it might be good to make herself scarce, stands and makes her way to the other side of the room. As she does, she notices that the atmosphere in the room has been changing subtly. While the cocktail party has progressed, the lights have been dimming slowly. It’s been so gradual that no one seems to notice how the once well-lit ballroom is now in semi-darkness with only flickering candles on the tables and bar. The music seems to be different too—the upbeat dance vibe morphing into a slower, more ominous background soundtrack. It all adds up to a mood that is decidedly less festive and a little more mysterious. 

David and Patrick leave the dance floor and, instead of sitting down, they stand at the edge of the room just talking softly. Patrick keeps his arm gripped around David’s hips. Because he can. He kisses him on the cheek, feeling his stubble on his lips. Because he can.

Still in conversation with Moira, Desdemona’s gaze shifts to the two of them. “You didn’t tell me my D. Rose was seeing someone.”

“ _Your_ D. Rose?” Moira looks at Desdemona quizzically. “Well, that puts his strong reaction to _A Little Bit Alexis_ not getting its back nine order into an entirely new context. I was completely nescient to your former dalliance. Not that it’s surprising, he was never short of suitors back then.”

“And now?” Desdemona prods.

“And now—” Moira looks at her son, wrapped up completely in the arms of his business partner. His face is soft and content as he gazes at Patrick. She smiles, apparently having nearly missed another important milestone in her son’s life but ready to embrace it anyway. 

“And now he has sweet Pat. Their appetency for each other is palpable wouldn’t you agree?”

“Definitely,” Desdemona says, sounding not at all convinced. She tries to disguise her scowl by taking a big sip of her drink but sees Moira looking at her from the edge of her eye. Noticing.

After she’s left Alexis with Ted, Rachel is careful to avoid the part of the room where David and Patrick are standing. She’s trying hard to process everything he told her this afternoon, along with what she’s seen with her own eyes—from the kiss in the motel parking lot to the slow-dancing here. Whatever questions she might still have, it’s obvious these men are very much infatuated with one another. Rachel wonders if she’s ever seen Patrick look at her the way he looks at David but maybe she knows the answer. Maybe she’s known the answer for a long time. And maybe now it’s finally time to face it.

“Is someone watching us?” David asks, looking around for one or both of their exes, assuming that Patrick wouldn’t be playing this up with so much PDA without an audience. Why would he? Well, Stevie said— but Stevie probably doesn’t know what she’s talking about. _Just a body, David, just a body._

“I can’t see where my horrible ex has gotten to but she’s probably lurking somewhere out there, evil as ever,” David says. “Is she still talking to my mom? Ugh, it’s hard to see much in this room. Seriously, is it getting darker?”

Patrick shrugs, smiles, but doesn’t loosen his grip. He’s holding onto David because it’s what he wants to do more than anything in the world. But some part of his brain also feels the need to remind him that David doesn’t feel the same way. For David, this night is just a means to an end; it’s all about Desdemona. As awful as she is, Patrick can see why he wants so badly to avoid her. If he can help David while enjoying their closeness, what’s the harm?

That’s when they both notice Rachel in a different part of the room, trying to pretend that she isn’t periodically glancing over at them. 

“Oh, there’s. . . yours,” David says quietly. “Poor thing.” 

Patrick swallows hard. He can sense Rachel’s sadness and, as always, he struggles with the fact he is disappointing someone. Isn’t this exactly how they always ended up falling back into it whenever they’d break up before? Part of him still wants to rush over right now and make it better, except that he really, really doesn’t. He knows he has more he needs to say to her but at least he was honest today when he told her about his preferences. And his feelings for David.

And that’s why he knows this is the right thing, even if it hurts. Because this time he finally feels right. For once in his life.

It’s David. David makes him feel right.

Rachel lets out a short bark of a laugh that sounds a tiny bit like a sob. Being in a dark, unfamiliar place is throwing her off and she’s not sure if she should have come here tonight—or even stayed in Schitt’s Creek at all. She could have just driven away forever after she saw Patrick at the store, but she just needed to see. She needed to know for sure. Rachel finds the restroom at the edge of the almost-dark ballroom, and ducks in to splash water on her face and pull herself together for a minute.

Around the time Rachel leaves for the bathroom, David excuses himself from Patrick to do the same. Patrick misses the close contact of having David nearby but within seconds there is someone by his side, elbow in his ribs. He half-expects it to be Rachel and is surprised to see Stevie instead.

“Hello there,” she says with a smirk, slipping her arm through his. “How about—let’s talk, shall we?” She looks really different tonight—disarmingly beautiful in fact, in that red dress—while at the same time vaguely uncomfortable, as if she’d really just prefer to be in her regular flannel and Chucks. The look on her face is pure Stevie though—a big dose of snark she has saved just for him. 

“And how is _your_ night going, Patrick? Where’s _David_?” she asks pointedly, placing a shot glass of unidentifiable alcohol in his hand.

Patrick knows David’s best friend well enough to recognize she’s not letting the fact that they are pretending to be boyfriends go by without a comment. And obviously she must have a clue that this is all a farce. Still, he’s not exactly sure what David might have told her so he’s not clear how to play this. Before she can start in on him, Patrick figures his best approach is to go on the offensive.

“Hey, Stevie! Great to see you here! Don’t you look exceptionally nice tonight? I see you’ve made a new friend? Or maybe he’s an old friend. Ooh, what’s that?” he says, pointing to her neck. “It looks like a little mouth-shaped sunburn right there.” Stevie’s mouth drops open as if she’s forgotten what she was going to say. 

“So you two seem like you know each other pretty well,” Patrick continues. “Anything you want to share with the rest of the group?” Stevie struggles to regain her composure and turn the tables back on Patrick, to recall the reason she came over to talk to him. 

“Look—” she starts.

“Not getting a name then?” Patrick asks innocently.

“Uh, yeah, okay fine. That’s Jake.”

“Jake,” he repeats, wondering why that sounds vaguely familiar. Has David mentioned him? Patrick isn’t sure. But if Stevie is with this guy, and David and Stevie were also together for a short while, then surely not, he thinks.

Probably not.

“Beside the point. _Jake_ is not the point,” she says, trying to regain some control as she watches him down the shot. “Patrick, focus with me here. The point is how long have you been waiting for an excuse to get your hands all over David Rose? And what are you gonna do now that you have?”

Patrick sputters and feels the alcohol burn as it goes the wrong way down his throat.

“What?” he asks, coughing and turning red.

“You heard me. Really, man, you aren’t that subtle. _Neither_ of you are,” she says, causing his head to jerk up at her words. “So, I was just saying to him that I thought you probably want to bone him as much as he wants to bone you? Am I right? Can we maybe make a love match with you two here and now so I don’t have to keep watching David pining over his supposedly-straight-not-so-straight business partner?”

“Watching David do what? Wait. Stevie, you aren’t saying that—”

“Hey Pony,” interrupts Jake, slipping a fresh drink into Stevie’s hand. ‘Pony?’ Patrick mouths at her. She shoots him a glare. “Who’s this guy?” he asks, gesturing to Patrick.

“That’s Patrick. David’s _boyfriend_ ,” Stevie says, her eyes murdering Patrick in a million different ways. Jake looks blank. Patrick nods, in a daze.

“That’s right, that’s right,” he says. “I am. I’m David’s boyfriend. And you are?”

“Ready to get my Studio 54 going again. Shall we, Pony?” 

Stevie allows Jake to drag her out to the dance floor. As she’s walking away backwards, she shoots Patrick a meaningful look and mouths at him, “Someone needs to make the first move!” He feels his heart thud in his chest. Was she right? Was this more real than he’d dared hope? Or could it be?

When Rachel returns to the party, she sees that Alexis is talking to a woman who looks very familiar— _in fact, oh my god, is that Vivian Blake from “Sunrise Bay”?_ —and she can also just make out Patrick in a conversation with a pretty but somewhat scary-looking dark-haired girl in a red dress and a tall guy in a white suit and David is nowhere to be—

“Hello, Rachel.”

Oh. Okay. David is right in front of her, saying hello in his soft as butter voice. Rachel gives him a once-over, noting that his sexy vampire look is definitely working. He really is the hottest guy at the party ( _out of your league, but nice job, Brewer_ ). Somehow though David looks like he doesn’t quite know it. Or at least right now, talking to her, he looks nervous.

“Hi David,” she says. “I didn’t see you there at first. The room, it’s gotten pretty dark now, hasn’t it?” She isn’t really sure what she’s supposed to say to her ex-boyfriend’s impossibly hot boyfriend.

“Mmm, yes? Not sure what that’s about. Probably a trick of hers to . . . oh anyway, that doesn’t matter right now. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute if that’s all right. To see how you . . . see if you’re okay. So.”

“I’m okay,” she says quickly. Too quickly. She studies her fingernails intently.

“Oh uh-huh. Good that’s good. It’s just— well, I’m sure that this was all a pretty big surprise for you. I mean . . . _You’re not alone actually_.” He says the last part quietly under his breath. “But. . .” he continues, a bit louder. She looks up at him. “I really just wanted to say that I’m sorry about that. You seem like a nice person.” Rachel smiles tentatively, appreciating what she sees in David’s kind eyes. “I guess Patrick never said anything to you about me, about us, before today. Or anything about him being gay. Right? You didn’t know that before?” Rachel nods slowly.

“And so like, do you think that seems really out of character for him?” David asks, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe super unlikely and kind of unreal? Do you feel maybe eventually he will tell you that he was wrong about that?” David trails off, uncertainly.

“Actually,” Rachel says, “if I’m being truly honest, that’s the part which doesn’t seem all that surprising. Now that I think about it, it kind of clears up a number of reasons why our relationship never seemed to work no matter how many times we’d break up and get back together. It actually makes me feel a little bit better.”

“It does?” David asks, surprised.

“Yeah, it does,” she says. “I mean you two are pretty obviously crazy about each other. Anyone can see that. I’m not gonna lie, it’s an adjustment to realize Patrick isn’t mine anymore but, yeah, I am actually surprisingly okay to see you with him. He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him, David.”

David feels his heart beat faster. “Oh.” He wasn’t expecting that. “Thank you, Rachel,” he manages to say.

“You’re welcome, David,” she answers softly, her voice like freshly laundered linen. 

Then she leans in, first smoothing and then taking hold of his lapel. “There’s just one more little thing you need to know though.” David looks down somewhat sheepishly and she raises his chin with her finger so they are sharing some unavoidable eye contact. Rachel’s face is _thisclose_ to his and for a moment it’s like she’s going to kiss him, but instead she speaks in a low voice, their lips almost but not quite touching.

“The thing is, David, Patrick Brewer is my best friend in the whole world. So even though tonight I’m a little hurt and a little sad and a little mad, I still feel like I have to let you know this one important thing.” He nods, tries out a smile. 

“If you ever hurt him, if you hurt that man, David, well, I will literally end you,” she says through gritted teeth. “Do _not_ test me on this.”

David feels a shiver down his spine as Rachel smiles at him sweetly and floats away in her gauzy dress.


	5. Stare at Your Lips in the Light of the Scariest Movies

David rejoins Patrick after Rachel slips away, leaving the two of them standing on the edge of the ballroom. The crowd has started to thin a bit so the room is no longer packed like it was, although it’s hard to really see who is where since it has grown increasingly dark. The eerie-sounding music that’s been playing in the background of the party has been steadily growing louder until it drowns everything else out. Suddenly it is punctuated with a bloodcurdling scream which seems to come at them from all sides. Both men jump.

“Dearly departed friends. . .” a disembodied female voice says with a sardonic chuckle. The speakers seem to be placed everywhere in a surround-sound audio system and the booming sound puts them both on edge. “Or . . . maybe you’re not all quite dead, quite yet? Oh well, the night is young and the spirits are restless and the graves are very, very shallow.” The voice laughs again and Patrick realizes it sounds a lot like Desdemona. No wonder it’s so off-putting.

Patrick looks over at David and raises his almost-nonexistent eyebrows. The room is now completely dark—even the candles are gone—and he can’t see anyone around them except for David. Patrick puts his hand on David’s arm. There’s no way he’s losing him in whatever comes next.

“I don’t like this,” hisses David. 

“It’s okay, David, I’m right here,” Patrick responds. They edge closer together, David swaying into Patrick’s solid form.

In the center of the ballroom there is a flash of light and fire, followed by red smoke as some kind of pyrotechnics are activated. The crowd collectively jumps back toward the perimeter of the room. At that moment, muted purple lights appear in the suddenly open doors that ring the room.

“Move quickly!” calls the voice. “This ballroom is no longer safe for the living. Your only hope of survival is to go through one of the doorways lighted behind you. Go! Now!” More fireworks pop in the center of the room and Patrick grabs David and pulls him toward the closest door. They can hear people rustling and rushing to the other exits. When they reach the door, they realize that they are the only ones near it and together they pass over the threshold, David in the lead, with Patrick holding on to his shoulders. At the last minute, Patrick sees someone in all-black standing beside them. This shadowy figure shoves him hard into David’s back and they both almost fall as they are plunged into total darkness with the door slamming shut behind them.

“Fuck!” David says. “What the fuck was that?”

Patrick is still holding on to David from behind, his arms wrapped around him in a bear hug that is meant to keep them both upright as they are pushed into the dark room. His mouth is tight against David’s ear and he whispers, “I’m not sure what is happening but don’t let go of me, David. No matter what, we stick together. Also,” he adds as an afterthought, “I’m pretty sure we’re not alone in here.” The room is pitch black and it’s impossible to see but they can hear a faint scratching sound coming from the corner of the room.

“Ew,” David says, grabbing Patrick’s hand. “What? Who’s here?” Suddenly, a loud strangled noise fills the darkness. Patrick feels David’s body recoil. 

“Where’s the ghost?” David shrieks.

The room falls into an immediate eerie silence. Then the scratching noise starts back up and grows louder and again the sound seems to surround them. Holding onto David, Patrick reaches back to the door they came through, only to find that the doorknob is covered in some kind of thick, viscous slime. The door is also locked. 

“Not that way then,” Patrick says mostly to himself, and then to David: “Well, I guess this would be the haunted house portion of the evening, huh?” He’d wanted jump scares, he reminds himself. Well, they’re in it now.

A creepy giggle comes from the center of the room and both men startle. The scratching sound returns and the purple light that beckoned them into the room flashes like lightning, accompanied by a thunder sound effect—lighting up the space for a moment to reveal a large coffin. Then the room goes completely dark again.

“Aaagh! Patrick! The fuck was that?” David yells, clearly shaken. Patrick feels his heart rate accelerate even as he tries to tell his brain rationally that these are all just special effects and classic haunted house frights. He holds tight to David’s hand and whispers, “Don’t be scared. It’s just tricks.” The giggle comes again and then turns into a deeper, more evil-sounding laugh.

“I— I don’t like it,” David says in a small voice. The laugh gets even louder. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Patrick says. “We’re getting out of here.” 

He grabs his phone from his pocket, hits the flashlight app and shines it around the dark room. As if in response, the room immediately floods with light so bright that neither man can see anything since their eyes were adjusted to the darkness. Patrick blinks hard and tries to focus. He can make out the coffin in the center of the room, streaked with red. He knows it must be paint or some kind of dye, but his lizard brain whispers _blood_. The coffin lid creaks open and someone, or something, starts to emerge. Patrick gasps as David screams. A skeletal hand is reaching for them—

Patrick squints against the too-bright lights and sees a door on the other side of the room. Powered by pure adrenaline, he firmly steers a petrified David toward the exit. The door is unlocked and they push through it, finding themselves once again in a pitch-black room. Just out of curiosity, Patrick tries the knob behind him. Locked.

This time, a horrible stench hits them as they stagger into the room. Patrick puts his hand over his nose and mouth, pulling up his uniform jersey to try to mask his face from the smell. David makes a gagging noise. The room is cold and David shivers in his shirtless costume. Patrick feels something wet dripping down from the ceiling and there seems to be theatrical fog coming in through vents in the walls. It’s as if they found themselves inside a cave, but of course they are just in another room in the Divine House. _Makeup. Costumes. Special effects._ Patrick reminds himself. David’s breaths are growing shallow and Patrick worries that he is working himself into some kind of panic attack.

“David,” he says. “David, it’s okay. Stay with me. Breathe. It’s just some haunted house tricks. Remember? It’s Halloween fun and games, you know? Trick or treat?”

“It’s her,” David whispers. “She loves this. She loves to scare people, Patrick. Because she loves to hurt people. I— you wouldn’t understand. Patrick, you’re a good person. But not everyone is.”

“Hey, listen to me. She’s not going to hurt you,” Patrick says, gripping even more tightly to David’s hand. “I will not let her. Not tonight, not ever,” he vows, not entirely sure what he’s promising but knowing that he means it with his whole heart. He thinks about the way Desdemona was talking about David and his family earlier and realizes that he’ll do pretty much anything to protect them. Whatever it takes. But first he has to get David somewhere he can calm down.

“We got out of the last room and we’re getting out of this one, too,” Patrick assures him. He tries his phone flashlight again, only to find that the battery has died. “Yup, that’s fine, that’s okay,” he says to himself as much as to David. Patrick leads David gently forward into the darkness, not letting go of his hand. He fumbles around a bit until he touches a wall, feeling something wet and sticky, a fact he tries to ignore as he starts to navigate his way around the perimeter of the room. He moves them together slowly, one hand along the disgusting wall, the other in David’s warm grip. Patrick is just hoping to luck into an exit like they did in the last room. 

Suddenly his hand brushes against something protruding from the wall that feels like the features of a waxy, dead face. Patrick startles and inhales sharply. “What? What is it, Patrick?” David asks insistently. “You felt something.” _Masks_. _Props._ Patrick tells himself. 

“It’s nothing. It’s all just part of the haunted house, David. It’s not real.” Just then, Patrick’s hand touches another face-shape on the wall but this one’s features begin to move, the mouth opening and the teeth trying to bite down on his fingers. A low moaning sound simultaneously comes from the walls.

“Holy fuck!” Patrick yells this time, snatching his hand away. David pulls him close and it’s not enough anymore to just hold hands. The men now have their arms wrapped around each other, together in the darkness. Despite being taller, David buries his face into Patrick’s neck. Patrick feels David’s breaths still coming too quickly, feels David’s heart beating too fast, his bare chest flush against Patrick’s thin baseball jersey.

In that moment, regardless of the fear and adrenaline and everything frightening happening in their immediate environment, Patrick’s body can’t help but react to David’s proximity, David’s clean woodsy-leather scent, the solid feel of David against him. Patrick’s cock stirs and he can feel himself growing hard as he holds David’s body to his. Does David realize he has this effect on him? Would it be a terrible idea to let him know? 

Yes. 

Probably.

But, then again . . . 

Stevie did say that someone needs to make the first move. And he could do that. He could definitely do that. If he’s sure that’s what David wants. The problem here is Stevie is an established troll. 

She could easily be just trying to wind him up, thinks Patrick.

And Stevie’s always messing with him, thinks David. 

She told him to show Patrick how he feels. But Patrick couldn’t possibly want him. Could he? Why would he? David can’t even believe he’s lured him into this classic Desdemona nightmare to pretend to be his boyfriend. Ugh. Everything about this experience is just exactly what it’s always like to be around her—confusing, overwhelming, terrifying, and ultimately sickening. Okay, and right now, it’s also very arousing. But that part is not Desdemona. It’s because of Patrick, all Patrick—with his loud eyes and his gentle smile. Patrick—with his sexy confidence and steady reassuring presence by David’s side all night. 

And, yes, okay, yes, it’s Patrick—with his luscious thighs, his impressive bulge, his tight ass in those sportsball pants. 

Why did David agree to do this? How did it go this far? He’s supposed to be “just a body” tonight for Patrick, there to help him convince Rachel that he has moved on. And that’s it. David should have known he wouldn’t be able to pull this off—not when he can’t be this close to Patrick without imagining what it would feel like to slowly strip off his sporty costume piece by piece and thoroughly kiss every inch of his body.

The men are still holding on to each other, their bodies growing closer even as their thoughts spiral when—suddenly—another flash of light along with a loud bang causes them to jump apart. 

With the momentary brightness in the room, Patrick is able to see they are next to a doorway recessed into the dripping wall. He grabs David’s hand again. There is no knob so he feels his way over to it and pushes hard. The door opens to what looks to be a long dark corridor lit by flickering candlelight. He wipes his goo-covered hands on his baseball pants.

“C’mon, David,” says Patrick, taking his hand again. “I got you.”

They enter the corridor together. At the far end there is a single green door with a sign reading “Danger: Do Not Enter” marked with a skull and crossbones. There are no other obvious exits from the space—even the door they came through has seemingly faded back into the wall. Patrick notices that the hallway leading to the door is lined with what appear to be wax dummies of malevolent-looking clowns. The low flickering light makes the figures appear to move. A recording of ominous circus music and laughing voices echoes throughout the space, seeming to come from every different part of the hallway.

“Oh my fucking god. Seriously. Fucking _evil clowns_?” David exclaims.

“Agreed. This is getting to be a bit much,” Patrick says, hoping his voice still sounds calm and steady to David. As they move swiftly down the hall, both of them breathing heavily, Patrick has the sudden realization that these are most likely not wax figures. Probably they are haunted house extras in clown costumes—waiting for the chance to jump and scare the bejeezus out of them. When they reach the door, Patrick is surprised that none of the dummies have moved. Just as Patrick is about to warn David of that possibility, it’s David who grabs the doorknob and pushes Patrick through.

David is meant to follow right behind him, but he is quickly pulled backwards, even as the door starts to close on Patrick—which would leave them stranded on opposite sides. Patrick twists his body back and in the low light he sees that the clowns have not moved (maybe they _are_ wax after all). 

Instead, it’s an unnaturally tall grim-reaper-type figure in a long black cloak that is pulling David decisively away from him. He can just make out low murmuring sounds, as though the person ( _it’s just a person, just an actor, he reminds himself_ ) is speaking quietly and creepily to David, who seems frozen with fear and is allowing himself to be pulled back into the corridor. 

“No!” Patrick cries and he launches himself back into the room, one arm circling and grabbing David around the hips even as the dark shrouded figure also pulls on him, hissing. He could swear he hears it not only say the words “cursed” and “damned” but also “David Rose,” which—wait a minute, just how personalized _is_ this haunted house experience anyway? Maybe Patrick misheard but it doesn’t matter. He is absolutely not going to be separated from David at this stage. Realistically he knows that it’s unlikely anyone would be physically hurt in this situation—beyond being made anxious and scared and somewhat traumatized. 

But, who the hell knows what’s going on anymore?

Determined, Patrick holds tight to David and launches them both through the door, wrestling him away from the shrouded figure. There, on the other side of the door is—

Nothing.

Seriously, there’s nothing. 

David and Patrick find themselves wedged tightly into a wood-paneled closet-like room. The door slams shut behind them. It’s dark but not pitch-black and there don’t appear to be any special effects, wax figures, fog, jump scares or anything else. It’s just the two of them. Together. In a very small space. 

“Okay,” David says. “I guess we made it. Here. I mean, wherever this is.”

Patrick, full of adrenaline after rescuing David from the figure in the corridor, heaves a sigh of relief now that they seem to be alone in a more-or-less safe place. Without thinking, he pulls David forward and kisses him soundly on his perfect mouth. 

_Oh._

While they’d kissed in the car and a few times at the party, it was always with the idea that someone was likely watching—in other words, they were putting on a show. But this is no performance; it’s just the two of them completely alone. It’s a simple, solid kiss as kisses go, but the men’s faces linger close. Patrick’s lips drag along David’s stubbly cheek, both their hearts beating fast.

David rests his hands on Patrick’s shoulders in the semi-darkness as he considers again Stevie’s words urging him to let Patrick know “what he’s missing” and “what could be if he plays his cards right.” What if this is the one time she’s actually correct?

Emboldened by the kiss initiated by Patrick, David grabs his face and crushes his lips with his own. His tongue plunges into Patrick’s mouth repeatedly, searching insistently, passionately. This is no stage kiss. This is a for-real kiss. David pours all the unsaid words, all the flirty glances and jokes, all the unasked questions and never given answers, all the unspoken possibilities and promises into this moment. Everything between them becomes a part of this kiss—or really this series of long and short kisses. Patrick’s hands come alive, exploring David’s bare chest. He pinches David’s nipples and pulls at the little buds, feeling them tighten under his touch. He pets his chest hair and threads his fingers through it and tugs on it sharply. David makes soft hungry sounds that thrill Patrick. He thinks he would do just about anything in the world to be able to pull those sounds from David every day. Again and again, they dip into the ecstasy of their mouths joined together, tasting each other’s sweetness, gasping for air, holding each other’s souls hostage for a breath. And then another. And one more. 

What seems like forever, a lifetime—but is maybe just a few minutes later—they tear their mouths away from each other. 

“David. David, I—” Patrick starts to say something. He wants to say everything. But just then the room itself starts to shake violently and the distraction brings them out of the moment. “What the . . .?”

“Fucking fuck. Enough! _Enough_ of this!” David yells to the moving walls. “Fucking enough!” His voice is loud but uncertain.

The shaking motion of the room stops and an opening appears waist-high in the wall, a passageway out but not a full door. Clearly to get out of there, they are meant to crawl through this space. But, crawl to where? 

“We can do this,” Patrick assures David. “I really think we’re close to the end. But hey, I’m here and I won’t leave you no matter what is ahead—even if we have to go through 20 more rooms. So, what do you think, David? You want me to go first or to follow you?”

David considers his options, including the idea of never leaving and spending the rest of his life kissing Patrick in this closet until they expire. Ultimately, though, he decides to go first and drops down to his knees. Being in this position with Patrick standing right in front of him in those tight pants is _a lot_ , but no, it’s not the time or the place for that. David files away those thoughts as he pushes his way into the passage on his hands and knees. Patrick is immediately behind him, touching his ankles, his hips, never letting go of some physical contact with David. The crawlspace is filled with fake spider webs—they _are_ fake, right? David decides they must be and as the lead, he is the one who must swat them away from his face, sputtering and cursing the whole way. 

After all that, it’s just a short unpleasant crawl until they are dumped out into a massive greenhouse overlooking the grounds of the Divine House. Darkness lurks beyond the high glass ceiling and walls but the glittering fairy-lights and lush tropical plants give the interior space an otherworldly feel. Soothing sounds of classical piano are playing in the background. After their heart-pumping haunted house experience, this is almost too bright and cheery.

Many of the other partygoers are already gathered in this large conservatory and amidst the blinking lights and greenery David right away sees Alexis and Ted. Rachel. Jocelyn and Roland. Ray. They gravitate toward one another, all seeming a bit shaken up. As they start to swap stories, they learn that each has experienced some different version of the haunted house—passing through various rooms, with jump scares, special effects, and creepy passageways. 

It does seem that the experience for David and Patrick may have been more extensive than most since the others have been finished and chatting for some time. Only Alexis, uncharacteristically quiet, seems like maybe she is feeling as spooked as David is. He wonders if she also had someone address her by name in the way the shrouded figure had spoken to him. Did anyone try to grab her away from Ted or Rachel like that creeper who was determined to separate him from Patrick? He’d need to ask her about that later.

Roland launches into the story of his and Jocelyn’s journey through a maze-like room filled with blue smoke but he is almost immediately interrupted as a sharp whistling sound replaces the piano music. On the only non-glass wall of the room is a massive movie screen which suddenly blinks to life. Desdemona’s cold, beautiful, lupine face appears, looming above them and an involuntary shiver runs down David’s spine. He sees Patrick’s face tighten.

“Hello . . . my dear _sweeeeet_ friends from Schitt’s Creek. Welcome to the Divine House. Did you all survive my little bit of fun?” she says, a laugh deep in her throat but not reaching her eyes. When she enunciates the name of the town, there is more than a little derision in her tone. David squints at the screen and glances over at Alexis. Her eyes lock on to her brother’s immediately as she mouths “ew” at him. The promo which follows presents appropriately ominous scenes from Desdemona’s new Interflix series, _Restless Spirits._ The video heavily features scenes from the Divine House episode. Interspersed with highly produced clips from the show are a few moments from tonight, including the cocktail party as well as very quick flashes of partygoers’ fearful faces experiencing various frights in the scary rooms.

Patrick thinks he catches glimpses of both David and Alexis going through the haunted house, but in truth the whole video goes by so fast that it’s hard to tell what he is actually seeing. He recalls the disclaimer sign as they were coming in and wonders exactly which portions of the evening have been filmed and why. He feels rather unclear whether this popup event/costume party/Halloween haunted house is supposed to market the _Restless Spirits_ show to the partygoers, or if this whole immersive experience is somehow part of something else being filmed that is either tangentially related or maybe it’s even a whole other project. With Desdemona involved, who knows how much to trust what is being presented as true and what might be happening for other purposes.

Her face reappears at the end of the promo video and she invites the guests to either move outside to the testimonial booths set up out in the garden where they can be interviewed on film about their reactions, or else to head back to the ballroom where they can take a different door and try an alternate path through the haunted house.

Patrick aches to reach out for David. They haven’t spoken or touched since they kissed in the closet. But David—after seeing Desdemona up on the big screen and with Rachel standing nearby Alexis—is suddenly feeling shy with Patrick again. What exactly is real and not real? Kissing Patrick had seemed real to him but—well— 

They should talk, definitely.

“David—” Alexis starts. “Okay, um. We need to talk—” She glances from Rachel to Patrick, both of whom look like they’d prefer to get out of this awkward conversation grouping. David nods at his sister. It’s time they compare notes—if only to make sure the she-devil doesn’t hurt anyone else. Like, for example, their mother.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” Patrick announces, giving David a meaningful look and leaving him with Alexis to discuss whatever they need to—something he assumes relates to Desdemona and the strangeness of the evening. “Find me later, David,” he half-whispers close to his ear. “Because I think we need to talk, too.” Patrick’s quiet, sure voice vibrates through David’s body and David feels his pulse quicken. 

The Rose siblings excuse themselves from Rachel and the rest of the group and walk out of the conservatory into an adjacent parlor where a bar is set up. They settle onto the red leather bar stools but wave away the bartender when he comes for a drink order. They swivel around to face one another and begin to speak in low voices.

“David, listen. I think mom’s in trouble,” Alexis says and his eyebrows shoot up. This wasn’t what he expected to hear. He keeps forgetting how much Alexis has grown beyond the selfish rich girl she was when they first came to town. But maybe he shouldn’t be surprised to hear she’s worried about Moira. Not after seeing their mother talking with Desdemona and then Patrick mentioning some mystery project.

“Is it the thing with Desdemona?” he asks, knowing the answer. She blinks hard and nods. 

Alexis tells her brother about her night, how she was cheerfully going through the haunted house rooms with Rachel, Ted and some other people. Then, just as with David, there was a point where someone grabbed her and tried to get her alone. But while Patrick had held on, fought and didn’t let David go, Alexis did get separated from everyone else in her group. A shadowy figure, dark and shrouded, called her by her name and succeeded in pulling her off and isolating her in a different room.

“What happened?” David gasps. 

“It was. . . weird,” she says. “The person sat me on a stool in the center of a small, cold room and tied my hands with duct tape. Then they just left me there. I guess I was supposed to be scared, but honestly, David, it was nothing compared to that time with the Yakuza. So, I sat there for a minute, waiting. I thought it was part of the haunted house experience, like some kind of simulated torture or kidnapping scenario—”

“Alexis,” David interrupts, concerned. “Did— Did they try to hurt you?” He swallows hard.

“No, I’m okay,” she says. “David, really. I am. Nothing happened. Literally. I sat on the stool for a full minute. I was about to give up and just break free from the duct tape—you know, like I’ve shown you,” she raises her hands above her head, wrists together, and brings them down fast, “—because it was becoming _such a drag_. It’s like I told Liam Neeson when he was researching his role for _Taken_ —the waiting around to be rescued can get _so boring_. It’s better to just escape if you can. So, yeah, I was about to do that when all of a sudden, there were these voices all around the room, kind of like in surround-sound, coming at me from different directions. Anyway, at first, well, they were kind of just taunting me, calling me A—you know like Des always does—and asking about our lives here, looking for details about _quote_ -how far we’d fallen as a family- _unquote_.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s what they said. The whole thing went on like that for a few minutes but they didn’t really _do_ anything to me. They just asked a few questions and—well, they said some rude things.”

“About mom?”

“Yeah, about mom. But also about you. And about me. You know, I talked to her earlier at the party and she’d mentioned that Des offered her a spot on a new show and that she wanted us to be in it as well. I told her I wasn’t interested,” she says. David looks at her with some surprise.

“So, I didn’t really get the complete picture, but from what I did understand this whole ‘pretend psychological torture bit’ was all about getting me to agree to that. The voices were saying how we had all clearly hit rock bottom here and that the show was the best we could do—that it was gonna be so ‘raw, edgy, primetime’ and that we would be ‘living out our pathos and misery’ and exploring that for the viewers. God, David, the more they talked about it, it sounded bad. Like worse than a Sebastien-Raine-photo-shoot-bad. Humiliating. For mom especially, David.”

“Yeah, she can’t. Nope. We aren’t doing that,” he says, shaking his head. “That would kill her—being shown like that on TV after being Television’s Moira Rose.”

“No, I know,” Alexis replies. “Anyway, they let me go when they realized they would have to drastically enhance their methods if they really wanted to have an impact on m. . .” Alexis trails off as she sees the unexpected emotion cross her brother’s face. “Hey. David, it’s okay. I mean it. I’m totally fine. Nothing happened.” 

David nods and wipes at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. “Yes, I just—I worry about you. You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that—even if it was supposedly pretend. This is so far beyond normal. Desdemona is just a fucking psychopath,” he spits out. He is shaking.

Alexis stands and pulls her brother into her arms. “What’s this?” he asks, surprised.

“Oh, I guess I just needed a hug, David,” she whispers to him. “Thank you, big brother.” David’s smile disappears into a twisted smirk that hides itself in his cheek. He wraps his arms around his sister and squeezes her tightly. As they share this tender moment, neither notices Rachel entering the parlor. 

“Heyyy. . . so speaking of _Big Brother_ , David,” Alexis says, trying to lighten the mood. “Just you know—in case you were thinking of pulling that little button of yours into a dark corner for some smooching or something more. . .”—she bats her lashes suggestively—“just be discreet, k? I’ve been noticing that the walls have eyes here.” David looks at her quizzically but she doesn’t elaborate.

With that, Alexis hops off the bar stool and smooths down her angel dress. “Mmmkay, so. Are you going to be all right, David? I think I need to go find Ted before I forget to tell him about my Big Brother pun. He’ll like that one.” She smiles playfully. David nods and gives her hand a squeeze.

After Alexis goes, David turns around and runs straight into John Travolta, circa 1977. If John Travolta were taller, slimmer, with better pecs. And with shorter hair and a goatee. And not Italian. And, well, a pretty open-minded guy.

“David. Hi,” says Jake smoothly. Before David can say a word, Jake’s hands come up to cradle each side of David’s face and he leans in to claim his lips. It’s not a peck, but he also doesn’t linger too long. It is definitely a real kiss though. His hands slide down to rest on David’s biceps as he gazes deeply into his eyes. 

Rachel watches from across the room. _Oh. Hell. No_. She told David what would happen if he hurt Patrick. And she meant it. She needs to find Patrick and warn him. Now. She turns away from the bar and heads in the direction that Patrick left in earlier. 

David is unaware of Rachel’s entrance and exit and what she has witnessed, completely distracted by the Jake of it all. 

“Um. Hi?” David responds to the kiss with a slight head shake and a step back. Jake is sexy, no doubt about it and his kisses are not nothing. Still, David has been there and done that. Compared to what he shared earlier with Patrick, Jake isn’t even on his radar at this point. “Oh, we’re still doing that then,” he states, flatly.

“Mmm. David, it’s great to see you,” Jake says, oblivious to his response. “You look amazing tonight.” He takes him in slowly, looking up and down, making it clear how much he is appreciating the leather. The eyeliner. The missing tank.

“Aren’t you here with Stevie?” David counters. But Jake has never been familiar with the concept of shame. . .or monogamy. 

“Oh, yes. I definitely am,” he says, completely relaxed. “Why? Are you thinking the three of us should. . .?” 

“No. Nope,” David says. “Uh-uh. No, thank you. I’m— I am actually here with someone, too.” _Why not,_ thought David. _He’s used the b-word enough tonight. Why not with Jake?_ “My boyfriend.”

“Ahh, okay. And does _he_ want to. . .?”

“Oh, no,” David says, shaking his head vigorously. “I mean, not now. No. We’re new. . . and currently enough for each other, I guess. So, thanks so much for the offer but we’ll be fine on our own.”

“Sure, okay. You do you,” Jake says, perfectly content and in no way put out by David’s rejection. “I guess I should be looking for Po— _Stevie_ ,” he says, as she walks up. Jake gives her a similarly warm greeting kiss like the one he gave David, even though it’s only been a few minutes since he last saw her.

Over Jake’s shoulder, Stevie shoots David a look. He’s become skilled at deciphering her looks, and this one is a mess of warring priorities. She desperately wants to hear about how things are going with Patrick but not just in general. She wants enough time to interrogate him fully, to elicit all the embarrassing—and ideally juicy—details. The look also tells him that she recognizes their present company precludes her from being able to get the dirt she so desires. Because no matter how much she may want to know, she wouldn’t actually do that to David, air his complicated laundry like that in front of Jake. Her look says a lot—is the thing—and part of what it says is that she’s frustrated that she can’t just squeeze all the details out of David like he's a tube of toothpaste.

David smirks; he’s actually grateful now for Jake’s presence, as wet and lippy as it may be. He’s not quite ready to talk with Stevie about his confusion over Patrick and to dissect what exactly the kissing in the closet was all about. Something about it is too fragile and too soft and he wants to talk to Patrick first. 

In fact, talking to Patrick is pretty much his top priority before he does anything else. 

Jake orders whiskeys for himself and Stevie while David declines another drink. The three of them chat amiably for another couple of minutes and then David excuses himself to look for Patrick. He scans the conservatory and parlor and then heads back in the direction of the ballroom. He just hopes he can find him without running into Desdemona again. He’s had enough of her to last a lifetime.

Patrick is on such a high from making out with David that he’s practically floating outside in the crisp autumn air. The toe-curling, knee-weakening, heart-pounding make-out session. . . that was definitely not fake. It was the most real thing Patrick has ever felt in his entire life. He knows that his very real feelings for David are reciprocated because there was no pretending in the way David’s tongue swept into his mouth, how it danced alongside his own searching tongue. The deep needy gasps that escaped David’s throat were anything but fake.

Patrick grins to himself, unable to contain the sheer joy that is bubbling up inside him. He decides to take a quick lap around the house to stretch his legs and calm his nerves. He reaches up to lightly touch his lips, as he begins to walk a loop around the Divine House.

Bright lights and voices spilling from around the corner pull Patrick from out of his head. He stills, keeping his distance as he watches the small crew of people fiddling with an array of lights and cameras—all trained on a dilapidated gazebo with flaked and peeling white paint. The latticework is heavy with overgrown climbing hydrangeas and shadowy silhouettes make ghostly shapes in the distance. Standing in front of the decrepit structure is Desdemona filming a piece to camera, a boom mic suspended overhead.

She’s wearing a long jacket with a collar that stands rigid behind her neck—same as she was on the screen in the conservatory but now Patrick can see the complete look. The tapered waist falls to a flared hemline with large inverted scalloped edges reminiscent of a bat’s wing. It’s giving off serious vampire vibes and worn like this over her dominatrix dress it camouflages the actual purpose of that particular article of clothing almost completely.

“Did we get it?” she asks and the man behind the monitor shakes his head.

“Nah, too much ambient noise. We’re gonna have to adjust the mic sensitivity and go again.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Desdemona says and stalks over to a chair set up on the edge of where the light becomes darkness. Beside her sits a bored woman flipping through a magazine.

“How much longer are we going to be stuck in this dump? I can’t take another day in this ratty town.”

“Well, you better get used to it. If things go according to plan, we could be back here real soon.”

“Ugh. Tell me again why you’re, like, so obsessed with the Roses? They’re nobodies anymore. You don’t need them.”

“Mike said that if I can get has-been Vivian Blake and the Jessica Simpson wannabe on camera living in a shit nowhere town, then the job is mine. _Fallen Stars_ has real potential. . . a show ridiculing celebrities down on their luck has universal appeal. The farther they have fallen the better. And my sights are set a little higher than cornering the crackpot market that comes with supposedly supernatural houses.”

“Then, please, tell me you got them?”

“Moira is eating out of my hand. That talentless hack is desperate to get back on TV. She’ll do anything. It’s going to be so delicious to show the mighty Rose family literally scraping the bottom of the barrel week after week. But A, she’s gonna be a harder get. And D. Rose, of all people, is posing a problem.”

“How so?”

“Back when we filmed _A Little Bit Alexis,_ I had him wrapped around my little finger. He was so desperate and needy. I only had to break him down the tiniest bit and he was spilling his guts and begging to get back into my bed and my good graces.”

“So, what’s changed?”

“He’s found himself a small-town boyfriend and apparently clawed back some of his self-esteem.”

“Do you really even need him, though?”

“He’s the weak link. I just need to get him to crack and then I’ll be swimming in Rose family humiliation. Plus he’s just so easy to take apart that I can’t help myself.”

“Des, we’re ready for you,” the director calls.

“C’mere,” the woman pulls Desdemona toward her, kissing her open-mouthed and with plenty of tongue. She bites down on Desdemona’s bottom lip and pulls back until it slips seductively from between her teeth. “Film your bit then go get those Roses so we can get the fuck outta this town.”

“Jesus fuck, Des,” the man says as she takes her mark in front of the camera. “Make-up!” he shouts over his shoulder. “Now!”

Desdemona smirks at him.

Standing in the shadows, Patrick is ready to rip her head off. But he knows better than to do it in front of a camera. More importantly, he has to get back to David and warn him. 

Of course, David is nowhere to be seen when he gets back inside. Rachel, on the other hand, materializes beside him almost as soon as he walks through the front door.

“Patrick, thank god, I really need to talk to you.”

“Hey Rach, can we do this later? I really need to find David first.” He scans the conservatory.

Rachel falls into step beside him as he makes his way through the small groups of people, searching for the familiar figure. She tries again. “Patrick, please. This is important.”

Patrick sighs. “This is important, too. And time sensitive.” With the conservatory coming up empty, he turns and heads in the direction of the parlor. Rachel grabs at his arm, holding him back.

“Just listen to me, please. I need to tell you something.”

Patrick turns towards her, annoyed. “Rachel, I’m sorry. I really am. I know today was a lot and I shouldn’t have dumped everything on you like I did. It’s a lot to process and we need to talk again. And I want to do that for you, I do. But I absolutely _cannot_ do it now.” He shakes out of her grip and walks towards the parlor.

“Patrick, wait! He’s not in there!” she calls after him.

Patrick spins back around. “You’ve seen him?”

She hesitates for a second. Then lies. “I saw him go outside a little while ago. He was looking for you.”

“Thank you, Rach. You’re a lifesaver,” he says pulling her into a quick hug and places the most platonic of kisses to her cheek. “We’ll talk,” he promises as he disappears towards the exit.

Rachel watches him leave, feeling a weird combination of sad and confused. There was a time when that wouldn’t have worked. When he would have known she was lying. Because he knew her better than anyone. After half a life lived together, he could read her tells. And she could read his. She knew he would be shattered to walk in on David and that hot guy at the bar kissing. That’s not the way to find out something like that. Better to send him off on some wild goose chase and give David time to pry his lips free.

She looks at Patrick’s retreating figure. She needs to tell him about David by the end of the night. She has to make him listen.

Patrick heads back in the direction of the old gazebo. It seems the most likely place for David to end up, with the noise and the lights liable to draw his attention. He hopes he makes it in time to intercept David before Desdemona can do any damage. Except when he gets there, David’s nowhere in sight. Neither is she.

A small crew of people work at disassembling the sound and lighting equipment. Patrick watches as someone heads toward the field where the production trailers and tents are located. He follows behind and pokes around the temporary structures looking for Desdemona or David or both. That’s when Patrick sees the large bank of monitors each with a different view of the many rooms in the Divine House. There are literally cameras —well-hidden cameras—everywhere, filming everything. He’d probably feel a little sick at the idea of his and David’s private moments having been caught on film, if it weren’t for the overwhelming relief he feels at finding David on one of those screens.

He’s standing back in the ballroom. But he isn’t alone. Desdemona is crowding into him, walking her gloved fingers up his bare chest, asserting herself physically while David—the self-assured man who holds steadfast opinions and is incapable of compromise—is shrinking into himself. His shoulders are hunching forward while his usually animated hands hang motionless by his side, his eyes trained on a spot somewhere on the floor. Desdemona leans into his space to whisper in his ear. _What the fuck?_ Did she seriously just lick along his jawline? Patrick hurries towards the house.

After leaving Jake and Stevie in the parlor, David had returned to the ballroom, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of powder blue. 

Patrick has to be around here somewhere. Unless the hottest kiss—kisses—of his life were really only one-sided and Patrick has fled the complicated mess that is David Rose. David squeezes his eyes shut, scrunching up his face as he tips his head back. _No. Nope. Uh-uh_. He’s not going there. It felt _very_ much to David like Patrick was a _very_ willing participant. So. He’ll be here somewhere, and he’ll find David. Then they can talk. . . and maybe kiss some more.

It’s not Patrick who finds him though.

“D. Rose, alone as usual,” Desdemona’s voice pulls David’s thoughts away from Patrick’s magic lips and brings him slamming back into the here and now. “Has your little farmer boytoy dumped you already?”

“What?! No.”

“Give him time. They always do.” Condescension drips from her voice. She places a hand on David’s bare chest, over his heart. “Poor thing.”

“Patrick’s not like that.”

“Reeeally? Tell me what little Patty Brew’s like then?” Desdemona steps towards David. He steps back. Until he can’t anymore. Until his back is up against the wall. “Does he know what you like? Does he make you ask for permission before you come? Until you’re absolutely begging for it?”

David shrinks further into himself. His eyes are darting around the room, avoiding Desdemona’s eyes and the feeling he gets when she sets her sights relentlessly on him.

“No, I think your little farmer is as vanilla as they come. Isn’t that right? I bet he makes you feel really special when he fucks you like a missionary. Does he spoon you after? He probably brings you breakfast in bed?” 

“And what if he does?” The thought sends a thrill coursing through David’s body. He thinks he’d like it if Patrick brought him breakfast in bed. No one has ever bothered before.

Desdemona throws her head back and laughs. “Oh honey, remember, I _know_ you. You’ll get bored, and he’ll get gone. Once his gay training wheels come off—” David flinches; Desdemona smirks. “He won’t have a reason to stay. Why would he? He’ll move onto someone different. Something new. Someone less. . . you.”

The thing is—historically speaking, she’s not wrong.

Desdemona walks her fingers up his chest and leans in to whisper in his ear, “I left my riding crop in the trailer. I brought it though, just for you. I bet you can guess what I’m planning to do with it.” She licks along David’s jawline, then scrapes back down the wet skin with her teeth. David angles his head down, limiting Desdemona’s access to his neck. She tsks. “What happened to my good boy?”

“I’m not your anything anymore,” David says softly, barely audible.

“Put your hands on my hips,” Desdemona commands.

David immediately puts his hands on her hips. A smug smile turns her lips upwards.

_Fuck. Why can he never stand up for himself around her? He’s not some dumb 25-year-old kid anymore._

“You’re going to go back to my trailer, strip out of that leather you’re wearing, and put on the leather you know I like. Then you’re going to wait for me, like the good boy that you are.”

“No,” David says quietly. “I don’t want to. I’m not. . . interested. I have— I have Patrick now.” His rising inflection makes it sound like a question.

Desdemona tauntingly hums in mock agreement, “For _now_ , at least.” She makes an exaggerated sad face at David.

David feels trapped in her gaze. Yet he takes a deep breath and says clearly, to the floor, “I don’t want to.”

“I will make you forget all about him—”

“Hey! He said no,” Patrick says from behind Desdemona. David’s hands drop from her hips instantly and his head jerks up. Relieved, he looks over at Patrick and sees his eyes boring into Desdemona’s. 

“Oh, well. He always says no . . . until he says yes.” 

Patrick makes an angry sound.

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re not getting anywhere near my boyfriend again. Or his family.”

Desdemona takes a small step back and opens her arms, appeasingly. “I’m sure we can _all_ work this out. I brought extra leathers. You’d be more than welcome to join us.” She runs her predatory gaze up Patrick’s body. “You’d be _very welcome_ , in fact.” 

Patrick takes a step towards Desdemona, never once breaking eye contact. “Well, you are _not welcome here_. At all. You need to take your cameras and your girlfriend and get the hell out of Schitt’s Creek. Forget about David, forget about the Roses, and definitely forget about including them in your trashy bottom-feeder show idea.”

Desdemona looks surprised and Patrick continues. “That’s right. I heard you talking about putting the Rose family on your tacky TV show in order to ridicule them, but the people of this town aren’t going to stand for that. I definitely won’t. Seriously, get out of here. Now.”

Patrick wraps his arm securely around David’s waist and he can feel David’s body relax against him. Desdemona regards them both, eyes darting from one to the other, and suddenly she bares her teeth like a wild animal who has been cornered. Both men jump back slightly. Then she lets out a loud, hearty laugh and doesn’t stop cackling for a full minute. 

“Okay, okay,” she says, still laughing, starting a slow clap. “A-plus speech, Farmer Brewer. Ever thought of getting yourself on reality TV?” Patrick glares at her and points to the exit. 

“Oh sure, I’ll leave. For now. But we’re not done. You don’t know me, Patty Brew, but D. Rose knows me quite well. And he knows that when I want something, I get what I want. So, please. Do have a lovely evening and I’ll see you boys laterrrrrr,” she calls out as she leaves the ballroom.

“No! You won’t!” David yells after her, finding his voice. 

Despite his confident words, David has a sinking feeling that they haven’t heard the last of her. In fact, right now he probably needs to find his sister and then locate their mother. Hopefully, she hasn’t made any agreements with Desdemona that can’t be undone. 

Patrick tightens his grip around David’s hips and leans over to kiss him on the cheek, his lips landing just on the corner of David’s mouth. “I’m guessing you need to find your family right now, right?” he asks softly. David just melts. Patrick knows what he needs without him needing to say a word. Patrick just knows.

“Go ahead,” Patrick says. “I can wait.” 

“Okay. I’ll be back soon. And then we can leave this creepy house and this wretched party,” David says. “Just, um, stay here. Have a drink, a conversation, or I don’t know, whatever. I promise I won’t be too long. And then we’ll— I mean—then we can talk, too.” 

David hurries out, furiously drafting a text to Alexis as he goes. Patrick smiles as he watches him walk away. Patrick would smile watching David Rose do just about anything. Especially in those leather pants.

Patrick is still smiling when Rachel finds him moments later. 

“Patrick! Here you are. Finally! Look, I need to tell you something,” she says, exasperated, as if she’s been trying to pin him down all night to have a conversation she doesn’t even want to have. “Okay, I know you think you have a lot going on but you need to listen to me now. This isn’t about you and me. It’s about David.”

“David?” Patrick stops. She has his attention. “What about David?”

“Oh, Patrick. I really don’t want to be the one to tell you this but, hey, what are ex-girlfriends for, I guess?” She gives him a small shrug meant to lighten the mood a little or perhaps to illustrate her acceptance of this new role in which she finds herself. “If you have to learn this kind of thing, there are worse ways than hearing it from me.” She reaches out and squeezes his arm reassuringly.

“Rach, whatever you’re trying to say, please just say it.” Patrick feels like a stone is forming in the pit of his stomach.

“I saw David,” she says gently. “With another guy. A _really_ hot guy. . . although that’s beside the point. They were kissing and they looked _close_. I think— maybe he’s just not _in this_ as much as you are?”

Rachel sees Patrick’s face fall. She hates having to be the person to erase the joy that she’s seen written all over his face all night. Especially when she’s never been able to put it there herself. 

“You were always the monogamous type . . . before. And I don’t want to assume too much now. I know you are discovering new things about yourself and so maybe I’ve got it all wrong here. Maybe you and David have an open relationship?” she asks kind of hopefully. “If that’s what this is, if you’re cool with it then I am truly sorry for butting in. . .” She can tell from his face that she hasn’t gotten it wrong. “I just thought, in case you’re not. . . cool with it. . . then you should know.”

Patrick can feel his spirits sinking as Rachel’s words hit him. “Um,” he says. “David was kissing a guy—tonight? You’re saying this happened here, at the party? You saw him? Tonight?”

“Yes,” she says, her eyes continuing to search his familiar face. “You’ve been calling him your boyfriend and you seem so in love with him, I just thought— I just wanted to be sure you weren’t being betrayed or made a fool. Patrick, you deserve so much better than that. If he’s lying to you. If David’s hurting you, well then . . . fuck that guy.” 

_I’d certainly hoped to_ , he thought regretfully.

Patrick sees in front of him the girl that he’s loved for most of his life—that he still loves, in fact, in just a slightly different way. One thing he knows for sure is that Rachel would never, ever lie to him. That means she saw what she says she saw. 

Rachel’s eyes are welling up with tears. For him. And this stupid pretend relationship that he _knew_ wasn’t real. He _knew_ it. Come on, Patrick. You thought you could have David Rose as your actual boyfriend? Be serious. 

Patrick wraps his arms around her, “Hey, hey, Rach, shh, it’s okay,” Patrick says, comforting her with the words he wished he himself could believe.

“Is it?” she asks softly, into his chest.

“Yeah. It’s okay,” he repeats. “I’m okay, Rach. I’ll be okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.” He repeats again and again various sentences with different pronouns, all ending in “okay.” If he repeats it enough, speaks it as a mantra, then maybe, just maybe he can start to believe it. 

Rachel eventually leaves but Patrick stays. He just needs a minute to be alone and think. He doesn’t order a drink at the bar or talk to anyone else. Instead, he sinks down onto one of the plush velvet settees at the edge of the room and sits there perfectly still, his hands resting on his knees.

Kissing David was so perfect and had seemed so real that he’d let himself get swept away by the romance of them acting like “boyfriends.” But now Practical Patrick is back and he can actually use his very capable brain for the first time tonight. 

_Of course,_ David Rose is an amazing kisser. How could he not be? But someone as special as David is never going to tie himself down to any one person. And if he wanted to do that, it wouldn't be with boring Patrick Brewer, someone who just came out as gay, who has no idea what he’s doing, and who David can obviously recognize as a hopelessly inexperienced novice. Patrick has had a crush on his business partner for months and so clearly he just misinterpreted the rest of the night. David was freaked out about the haunted house experience and Patrick was helpful. And then David was upset about Desdemona and Patrick was helpful. So, in conclusion, Patrick is a helpful guy and David appreciates that. End of story.

They aren’t boyfriends and never were. David is Patrick’s business partner. And his friend. And if that’s what Patrick gets—if it’s all he ever gets—it’s fine. It’s actually more of David Rose than most people are allowed to have. Time to lock up that box with all those extra, unrealistic, impossible feelings.

He raises his eyes and sees David in the doorway smiling at him, raising his hand in a tentative wave. Patrick smiles back with the lower half of his face, a strained grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Time to go home. Time to end this night. Tomorrow they go back to being just business partners and forget all about this mess.


	6. You Know I Got You

The ride home from the party with Patrick is full-on awkward and David’s not sure what happened. 

Things had seemed good between them—really good. Amazing, actually. After they’d danced in the ballroom _and_ survived the haunted house _and_ kissed in the closet, David felt pretty sure there was something real there. Even after the night went all kinds of sideways, he could feel a real connection between them. The way Patrick stood up to Desdemona and defended him and his family. He’d made him feel safe. Brave, even. And really, really turned on.

So why the fuck was Patrick acting all weird and moody all of a sudden?

As Patrick drives David back to the motel, his hands grip the steering wheel at 10 and 2. All businesslike. Not really speaking and clearly straining to smile. He’s no longer trying to catch a glimpse of David out of his periphery when he thinks David isn’t watching like he did on the drive here. No. Something is off.

“Hey,” David tries. “So, mmm. That was quite a night. Um. Do you think we should tal—” 

His question is drowned out because Patrick flips on the radio and starts to half-sing, half-hum along to a classic Neil Young song. 

_come a little bit closer. . . hear buh buh buh to say. . . just like buh buh buh buh . . . nuh nuh dream this night away_

David looks at Patrick, the hope he’d felt buoying him earlier, disappears. He sinks further back into his seat. He pulls his leather jacket closer around himself and gazes out the window. He watches as the lights of the car illuminate the dark country road ahead. In the side mirror he sees the road already past, a dark inky spot behind him.

_because I’m buh buh buh buh you. . . I wanna see you dance nuh nuh, because buh buh buh buh with you nuh nuh harvest moon_

Patrick starts to softly whistle. 

Okay, so, it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk. David lets the melancholy song wash over him, the familiar voice on the radio lulling him almost into a trance, Patrick vocalizing and harmonizing all the while. He turns towards the voice, watches Patrick lick his lips as he puckers to breathe out the faint whistle and then Patrick’s neck vibrates with the soft humming in his throat.

They pull up to the motel and David unbuckles his seatbelt. Well. There’d been a point in the evening where he’d thought the night might be ending very differently. Like maybe at Patrick’s place. In Patrick’s bed. 

“So then, that’s. . . it? Apparently?” David asks. He knows he sounds a little pathetic but it’s been a rough night and Patrick being there for him was the one thing he was starting to believe in. Now he can feel him slipping away.

“Listen, David—”

“No. _You_ listen—” Patrick recoils slightly as if David slapped him. “Okay, sorry, that came out way harsher than I intended. It’s just. I’m not sure what’s happened here, Patrick. But maybe we could rewind a bit?” David lays his hand on Patrick’s and squeezes. For a moment he sees a flash of desire cross Patrick’s face but then he tempers his features. 

“I was hoping we could talk about . . . stuff. You know, tonight,” David says quietly. Patrick is silent and David watches as a muscle works in his jaw. David is just about to ask Patrick if he’s having regrets but then he realizes that he doesn’t have to. It’s written all over Patrick’s face. It certainly isn’t the first time David has seen that look but he’d really been hoping that maybe he wouldn’t see it on Patrick. At least not yet.

“It’s just that it’s been a really long night, David and I’m exhausted,” Patrick says. “So um, maybe. . . can we talk tomorrow?”

David nods, feeling a tightness in his chest. “Sure. Yeah. We can talk whenever you’d like.” He opens the door and gets out. He doesn’t look back as he walks away from the car, murmuring to himself, _Good night, Patrick._

In the car, Patrick folds his arms around himself and rests his head against his steering wheel. _Good night, David_ , he thinks. 

All David wants to do is to crawl under his covers and be alone, indulging fully in his sadness, and then maybe later to forage around for something to shame-eat in private. Of course that isn’t an option for him since Alexis is there—and not just Alexis but Rachel too. The girls seem to have become fast friends and are sharing confidences and laughs and nail polish.

“Oh, hello, David,” Rachel says, carefully giving herself a baby blue pedicure while Alexis finishes putting on a face mask. “I wasn’t sure—didn’t know if you were coming back here—or . . . ” Rachel doesn’t finish her thought but she is picturing the tall disco guy that she saw David kissing. It’s none of her business really other than her protectiveness around Patrick and his heart. If David wants to go hook up with some hottie, that’s his deal.

“Um,” says David, realizing that he and Patrick are still supposed to be playing boyfriends for Rachel’s sake. “Yeah, oh yeah. I’m here, back at the motel room, my room, um. Getting my bag. Before I go over to Patrick’s.”

“Really?” she says, surprised. She reminds herself that she’d said what she needed to say and now she needed to stay out of it. “I thought—I mean, sure. You are going over to Patrick’s. Okay. And everything is good between you two?”

“Mm, that’s right.” David doesn’t really feel like engaging anymore about this. He and Patrick had started this pretense, now he has to see it through, assuming that’s what Patrick wants to do. But he’s already throwing some things in a bag—his leather overnight bag—which he fills with some sleep clothes, a change for tomorrow, his hair and skin care products. In the bathroom, he changes out of his costume and puts on a soft sweatshirt and some joggers. After he washes the makeup off his face and does an abbreviated skin care routine, he texts Patrick.

Patrick  
  
So, i know we just said good night but here's something fun. What if I stayed at your place tonight?  
  
David. Maybe I haven’t been clear  
  
It's just that there's some things going on at the motel. Like for example, your ex here in my room with my sister  
  
Oh  
  
Yeah. And I told her I was leaving to go see you so  
  
Oh  
  
Is that ok? Isn't that what you asked me to do - be your pretend boyfriend  
  
No it IS. I think - yeah okay, David. I’m coming back to pick you up. I’ll be outside in 10.  
  


Here’s the thing. As soon as Patrick reversed out of his parking spot in front of Room 8, he started having real regrets about not at least talking to David and maybe having an open mind about his perspective on dating different people. Patrick knows he doesn’t have any claim on David—he can kiss whatever hot guys (or girls) he wants. Maybe Patrick could be okay with that. After briefly having his hands and lips on David, Patrick’s body is craving him so much. So maybe he can handle this . . . sharing David. If he gets to have him sometimes, that is. Right now that sounds like it could be good enough.

When he gets David’s messages, Patrick has already been contemplating turning around and going back to the motel. So he does. And he picks up David in the parking lot and they head towards Ray’s. All under the pretext that they still need to pretend to be boyfriends. And have some sort of sleepover. Also that maybe they are finally going to talk.

“So, look. I don’t mean to make an awkward situation worse,” David says in the car, still stung from Patrick’s earlier silent treatment. “I’m perfectly okay sleeping in Ray’s guest room.” Patrick starts to laugh and shakes his head. 

“No guest room? Okay, I guess on Ray’s couch? 

“So, about that. . .” Patrick says. “Ray actually doesn’t have a couch. He moved it out to set up his photography studio.” 

“Oh,” David says. “Well, then I can sleep in your car, I guess.”

“No!” says Patrick, a bit too harshly. “I mean—no, I can’t have you do that, David. You can— we— we—of course you can stay with me in my bed. It’s okay.”

“Are you sure? Because earlier you seemed like, maybe a little _panicky_? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” David thinks he’s zeroed in on the problem. After them kissing at the party, Patrick is probably grappling with his heterosexuality reasserting itself. And he’s worried about the prospect of having to be in bed with his queer partner. Maybe he feels bad letting David down since he’s not interested. Or even worse, he is legitimately scared that David will make a move on him.

“I’m sure, David,” Patrick says, regretting everything he’s done or said to put that look on David’s face right now. “Really sure. C’mon, it’s been a long night, let’s go inside. It’s bedtime.” 

So. The car ride was awkward. Being in Patrick’s bedroom is just weird. Like the room itself which is floral-wallpapered and tchotchked within an inch of his life. David had been hoping maybe the night would end with them together—but he definitely didn’t imagine this.

“The bathroom is right through there and here’s a towel for you,” Patrick says, trying to infuse his words with the apology and invitation he wants to extend. David leaves wordlessly and Patrick slips out of his uniform, draping it over a chair as he puts on a t-shirt and sleep bottoms. He hesitates for a second then gets into bed, pulling back the covers on the other side for David. 

When David emerges from the bathroom, he’s in his sleep clothes, his skin glowing, his hair slightly rumpled. Patrick inhales sharply, struck by the beauty before him.

“What?” David asks, self-conscious all of a sudden.

“Nothing bad,” Patrick assures him. “I’ve never seen you quite like this. This soft.”

“Oh?”

“It’s good. I like it.”

If that isn’t an opening, he doesn’t know what is. He slides into bed beside Patrick.

“So,” Patrick starts, “Desdemona was pretty horrendous. To you. To everyone. But especially to you.”

“Well, yes,” David says, as if this fact is barely remarkable. 

“I couldn't even—she made me so angry. Um. Are they all like her?”

“What?”

“Your exes? Are they all like her?”

“Some of them.” Patrick looks at him with questioning eyes. “Yeah, a lot of them.”

“She’s not nice.”

“No. She’s not.”

“You deserve nice.”

David trembles as the words sink in. Patrick. Patrick is nice, he thinks. But could he deserve Patrick, could he ever really have Patrick? He had thought maybe yes, then he thought no, and now he’s barely letting himself hope again. It feels like they’ve been either dancing with or around each other all night. _What if they could finally both just say what they_ _need to say?_ Be honest about their feelings, let all the words flow and see where that takes them.

“Patrick, um. I guess now is the time we should talk about tonight?” David says. “What happened at the party and what we want. Our relationship—our working relationship, the business—is really important to me. I’d really like to know what you’re thinking.” David hopes he hasn’t ruined everything by jumping on his business partner the second he had him alone in a haunted closet.

Patrick swallows, nods, hoping he hasn’t ruined everything by his cold behavior toward David in the car. He wonders if David is worried about how inexperienced Patrick is, thinks he’ll imprint on him like a little baby gay duckling. A gorgeous sexy free spirit like David couldn’t possibly want to deal with something like that.

Patrick shifts under the covers. David feels the mattress shift in response. The movement reverberates through his body with all the things left unsaid between them. 

“Yeah, we do. Let’s do that, let’s talk.” 

Silence. 

Excruciating silence. 

Awkward, excruciating silence.

David can feel every slight movement Patrick makes beside him. Patrick finally settles, his arm lying next to David’s, so close that David can feel the warmth radiating from it. But the distance feels too great to bridge. What if he were to shift his arm slightly, bump it against Patrick’s? What if he reaches down and laces their fingers together? What if he just starts talking. . . like a normal human being?

Patrick can’t think of how to start, how not to confess the depth of his feelings for David. How to broach the elephant in the bed between them. He composes in his head all the things he needs to say. _Will_ say. He swears he’s just about to say them but the bed is soft and David’s arm is so close. Maybe if he reaches out and takes hold of his hand, that will work in lieu of words until tomorrow. Yes. That’s exactly what he’ll do. Before his brain can register the thought and react accordingly, Patrick is asleep. 

David tries to think of the next words he needs but his brain is drifting ahead of him, falling, slowly, going offline. The next pillow over, he hears a gentle muffled snore and he tries but fails to categorize the sound. Who or what it’s coming from isn’t something he remembers or recognizes. But it sounds soft. And sweet. And cuddly.

The two men, side by side, fall into a deep slumber. Without realizing it, they begin to move, tucking themselves into each other, folding their bodies together.

Patrick feels toasty and content. He snuggles deeply into the warmth of his bed—the warmth _in_ his bed—and exhales, pleased and happy. His breath disturbs a smattering of hair that tickles his lips. His brain, still sluggish from sleep, can’t quite figure out the cause of the sensation. He nuzzles closer and feels it again. He hums against the hair that lightly brushes his lips and opens his eyes a fraction to investigate the feeling.

The room is dark, illuminated only by a waxing moon. In the light it casts through his window, Patrick makes out enough to quiet his brain. _Oh, it’s just David._ David, on his back, whose sleep shirt has ridden up during the night. Patrick’s hand—the likely culprit—is resting high on David’s chest the hemline of his shirt rucked up under Patrick’s fingers. Patrick snuggles in closer as he closes his eyes, sleep reaching out for him again. He noses into David’s chest, making small deliberate head movements so that his lips rub softly back and forth against the chest hair under where his head lies.

_This feels nice._

He pulls himself closer against David’s body, and— _oh_. His cock slides against David’s hip. _That_ also feels nice. So nice. He tilts his pelvis forward, his cock rubbing against David’s hip again as a low moan escapes from his lips. _Seriously, how is it possible for anything to feel so good?_ He slowly rocks against David, his body chasing the feeling as a sliver of consciousness begins to tug at the corners of his brain; until the urge to fall back asleep retreats entirely—lost to the rhythmic roll of his hips.

Patrick’s brain finally catches up with his body. As he slams into a state of wakefulness, he stills his hips, and snaps his eyes open. He looks at David, horrified. 

David is looking down at him, completely cognizant. Patrick can’t quite make out what his face is doing. Neither man says anything as they hold each other’s eye contact in the darkened room. Tension crackles between them.

What had Stevie said? That David wants to bone him as much as he wants to bone David?

Not giving himself any time to second guess the decision, Patrick surges up. All the feelings and desires he’s been suppressing for months boil over. The heat of his want is a geyser erupting. His legs scramble for purchase against the mattress, urging his body forward as it slides against David’s solid frame. He lets himself settle on top of David as he finally reaches his mouth. He captures David’s lips with his own, in a greedy kiss that is all want and anything but subtle.

When David had awoken 10 minutes earlier, it had been with a start. At first, he wasn’t sure what had drawn him from his sleep. He felt warm and safe and drifted off again easily enough. Until an unfamiliar sound roused him. This time, when he opened his eyes, he saw—remembered—he was not in _his_ bed. That alone would have been enough to explain his heightened senses but someone, presumably Ray, was making a hell of a racket down the hall.

That and Patrick Brewer was plastered around David’s body, cuddling into him warm and solid.

It felt amazing.

Patrick’s body felt amazing. And David. . . he felt like a creep for getting off on having his business partner curled around him in this parody of intimacy. Not literally, of course, because that would be a whole new level of wrong, but there was no denying that he had reveled in the feeling, that David had lain there, imagining, pretending, hoping as he listened to the soft snuffly snores of the man whose head rested on his chest. He realized that he’d never been more attracted to Patrick than in this moment.

But then, Patrick had stirred and he _was_ literally getting himself off on David while still half-asleep, driven by a nocturnal urge and his pleasure-seeking lizard brain. David was pretty sure this was the literal definition of _just needing a body_.

Except now, Patrick seems awake— _is awake_ —and is kissing him with an intensity that outmatches the kissing from the haunted house by a wide margin. If Patrick is just in it for the sex, for a body, then David is pretty sure he’d be able to tell. He’s been there, done that. Patrick is kissing him like he means it. God, does David want him to mean it.

Patrick is gasping for breath having neglected the needs of his lungs for too long, his body prioritizing the feeling of David’s lips against his own, as if he can somehow subsist by breathing him in. He is devouring David. His fingers thread themselves in David’s hair, angling his head exactly right so that he can lick into David’s mouth, exploring with tongue and teeth. He nips at David’s perfect lips, now kiss-swollen and wet, drawing the bottom lip into his own mouth at the same time he draws out a low groan from David. Patrick releases David’s lip and swallows the sound. Voracious. Hungry for more. David doesn’t disappoint. His breath is hot against Patrick as another moan, louder this time, escapes him. The sounds reverberate through Patrick’s soul.

David is being embarrassingly vocal. He needs to rein it in before he scares Patrick away.

As suddenly as Patrick had started kissing David, he stops. The loss of Patrick lips on his feels like the inevitable other shoe dropping. A taste of something wonderful that he can’t actually have. Is this when Patrick shares his regrets? 

It’s not. Patrick doesn’t recoil in horror or jump from the bed. He pants out a surprised breath. Their faces are only an inch apart, close enough for David to lean up and resume the kissing. He’s about to, he thinks, until Patrick’s fingers loosen their grip and withdraw from his hair. David stills as Patrick runs his fingers along his scalp, causing waves of pleasure to ripple through his body. He feels like a live wire, tingly and primed and ridiculously turned on. He can’t help but think of other ways Patrick could touch him that would send sparks coursing through his body.

David doesn’t have to think very hard as Patrick’s lips meld into his. This time Patrick takes his time kissing David. He alternates between sensual soft kisses and desperate passionate ones, where he pushes his tongue inside David’s mouth. He peppers feather-light kisses along David’s face, the tip of his nose, on his closed eyelids. He sucks the lobe of David’s ear into his mouth, biting down tentatively. Urged on by the sounds he can elicit from David, he wonders what can make him moan next.

Patrick’s t-shirt rubs against the bare skin of David’s torso, rucking up the soft white fabric of his shirt even further as Patrick pushes forward, his hips rolling inelegantly, fumbling into a new position. David widens his legs and Patrick slips between them. Both men let out an identical moan as their dicks slide into a new alignment that is sheer ecstasy. It’s both too much and not enough. The thin fabric of their sleepwear provides a certain amount of slip and friction as they move, but also a barrier. The sensation is maddening—it’s the most exquisite thing that Patrick has ever felt yet it hints, _no screams_ , at everything it’s lacking.

Patrick adjusts his rhythm, canting his hips a little to the left and both men moan together again, twinning in duration, and volume and enthusiasm. It would be funny if David weren’t sure he was about to die. Like, literally die. This has no right to feel so good. Patrick. . . he is some kind of a miracle. 

David’s shirt has ridden up even further as Patrick’s body writhes on top of him. His arms wrap around Patrick, his hands resting on the outside of his shirt, pulling him closer, holding him tightly, increasing the pressure and glorious friction of their pelvises and bellies rubbing against their hard cocks. Amid the hedonistic desires of their libidos, somehow Patrick gets distracted by David’s neck. The frantic grinding of his body against David’s slows. It is excruciating. David needs him to stop. Needs him to speed up. Needs him to keep doing that to his neck. 

Patrick neither stops nor speeds up; just continues the languid rolling of his hips as he kisses his way down David’s jawline. Rubbing his cheek against David’s much more stubbled one. Licking his Adam’s apple, feeling it bob under his lips and tongue, he kisses his way towards the crook of David’s neck, nuzzling into it, scraping his teeth on the skin there, sucking and biting and making sure he leaves a mark so his presence will be remembered when David stands in front of the mirror tomorrow, be felt when David presses against the bruise. He trails his tongue further down but—

This goddamn shirt is in the way. 

He pulls himself away from David and David whines at the loss of contact. He should feel embarrassed by the reaction but the grin on Patrick’s face somehow makes it okay. Patrick sits back on his knees and runs his hands up David’s torso, over his pecs, and under the hem of David’s shirt. He looks to David for permission, and David nods. Patrick slides his hand under the shirt and takes it off, throwing it on the floor. Then, Patrick is back on top of him, resuming the slow rhythm from before as his lips continue to explore David’s neck and jawline. 

Driven by want and completely lost to the feeling of Patrick grinding against him, David lifts his thighs and wraps his legs around Patrick, crossing his ankles and digging his heels into his ass cheeks, urging him forward. Patrick gasps and breaks away from the kiss. He stills and looks down at David, panting and out of breath, trying to catch it.

 _Fuck_.

“Sorry, we should go slow,” David apologizes. He unhooks his ankles, his legs falling from around Patrick.

Patrick laughs. Joyous and pure. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this? David, I think we’ve been going slow enough.” 

David's smile quirks into the side of his mouth. His dimples appear. “I think I might have an idea about how long.”

Patrick grins. “Really?”

David nods. “Yeah, really.”

This next thing he knows, Patrick has sprung off him—and off the bed—entirely. Before David has time to register anything but a fleeting disappointment at the loss of Patrick’s body against his, Patrick has pulled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor. He puts his hand into the waistband of his pajama pants and pulls them down, stepping out of them and kicking them off to join their shirts in a pile on the floor.

He stands unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest. His pale skin is lit softly in the moonlight and David doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful than a naked Patrick Brewer in his entire life. David could happily look at him for an eternity, soaking up his beauty. He’s not exactly sure how they went from making out in a closet to the awkward silences of the car ride home to. . . this—Patrick shamelessly standing in front of him completely naked. But is he ever glad that they did.

Patrick isn’t just beautiful, he’s also _big_. In every sense of the word. His prick is thick and long, larger than David had expected based on the outlines he’s observed through Patrick’s tight jeans. But more than that, he is solidly built. His pecs are defined, his shoulders wide and his forearms—which have always been so accessible and on display for all these months—are basically the same size as his biceps, veins defined and visible as they run the length of his arm.

And his thighs, good god, _his thighs_.

Patrick shifts under the weight of David’s gaze but makes no move to cover himself. He feels a heat rising up his body as David looks in open-mouthed appreciation.

When Patrick finally gets back in bed, he positions himself lower than before, kneeling between David’s open legs, looking up at him with wonder in his eyes. He lets his gaze wander, his eyes taking in the beauty that is David Rose. From his straighter than usual hair—now entirely dishevelled from where Patrick’s hands ran through them earlier—down the broad expanse of chest to his hips that were so enticingly on display all night. Patrick stares. Mouth slightly slack, eyes trained on the waistband of David’s sleep pants. His hands reach forward, hovering above the fabric, hesitating as he looks up at David’s face.

“Can I?”

“Yeah,” David says. His breath hitches slightly as Patrick’s hands grips his hips. He gives them a quick squeeze, causing David to squirm. Patrick grins at David who tucks another of his smiles into one corner of his mouth. He gives Patrick a look. Raises his eyebrow, as if to ask, _“what are you waiting for?”_

Nothing, Patrick decides. Off come David’s pants.

He sits back on his haunches for a moment, letting his gaze roam over David. Patrick thinks that if they had done this earlier, if they’d admitted their attraction to each other months ago when the store had first opened, then David is probably right, he likely would have wanted to take things slow. But as the weeks of pining for David turned into months, Patrick had graduated from Cosmo articles about _His Five Secret Sex Zones_ and _Finding His P-Spot_ to some very detailed and informative male-oriented sex blogs and online how-to guides. Patrick had been exploring his feelings for, and attraction to, David as he explored his own body. He let his fingers venture to body parts they’d never been before as he let his mind wander to David’s hands. With each new sensation that coursed through his nerve endings, he filed away how to use this knowledge with David, if he ever got the chance. Like now.

Patrick is done with taking things slow. He feels good. He feels ready.

Finally, Patrick lifts his gaze from where they had been locked on David’s newly exposed skin. He meets David’s eyes and bites down on his lower lip, trying to think how best to phrase his next question, the one where he asks David if he can fuck him.

He releases his lip, takes a deep breath and says, “David, can I—”

“Yes. Anything. Anywhere,” David cuts him off. “Whatever you’re ready for, believe me, so am I. Please. I just need you to be touching me right now.” He’d seen the way Patrick looked hungrily at his dick. Seen the way he was biting his lips as he tried to ask if he could suck it. David can’t think of anything better than having Patrick’s mouth around him right now. He is more than eager. He’s so aroused he’ll probably unravel the second that Patrick puts his tongue on him. 

Patrick leans over and switches on a lamp. David watches as he extracts a bottle of lube from the top drawer of his bedside table. _Oh, well a hand job will be nice too._ Patrick hesitates for a second flicking a look at David, then leaves the light on. David smiles. He closes his eyes and throws his head back on the pillow. He hears the squelch of the lube on Patrick’s hands. The waiting is agonizing. And then—

_Oh._

_“Oh.”_

Expecting the feeling of Patrick’s hand on his cock, he instead feels a well-lubed finger tracing around his hole. The slide is intoxicating, the pressure just right. David gasps and opens his eyes. Patrick is looking at his ass, focused and intent. He’s chewing on his bottom lip again. He looks so fucking good. He looks like the definition of sex. Finally, Patrick looks back up at David.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, god, it’s perfect.”

Patrick experimentally pushes the tip of his index finger into the hole. He is rewarded with a moan. He slides it in further. He takes it slow then finally, he curls his finger like he knows to do. David’s back arches and moan after glorious moan falls from his mouth. Patrick is enthralled by the sight of his finger swallowed by David’s hole. He makes small adjustments with his digit, experimenting, finding just the right placement and right pressure to turn David’s speech into a string of expletives.

He withdraws his finger to add more lube then pushes back in. This time, a second finger is added. He scissors them, opening up David. He alternates scissoring with curls of his finger continuing to massage the spot that is driving David crazy.

David is writhing against Patrick’s fingers. He’s three-deep now and David is so turned on. He can’t help but fuck back against them impatiently. Patrick seems to enjoy this. He stills his hand, like a troll, making David do the work.

“Do you like that?” he asks.

“Ohmigod, so good,” David manages to pant out, the short sentence broken by gasps.

Patrick resumes his movement, stroking his free hand along David’s thigh as he does. David was obviously so so wrong. There’s no way that Patrick is actually straight after all because he’s a goddamn genius at this.

“Do you want another finger?” 

“No. I want your cock.”

Patrick grins. He drops a kiss to David’s knee as he withdraws his fingers. Next time David wears a pair of his artfully ripped jeans, he’s going to rest his hand on that knee.

David watches Patrick rise, kneeling high between David’s thighs. He is huge and hard, pre-cum beading at the head of his prick. He fumbles around on the sheet and retrieves a condom that David realizes he must have taken from the drawer along with the lube. He looks at David as he lines up against his hole, the head of his cock nudging against it.

Patrick enters him slowly. David sees a mixture of joy and arousal written all over his face. Micro-expressions rearrange themselves across his features the further he sinks into David. His lips open. His eyelashes flutter. Eventually his eyes close. He opens them again once he bottoms out with a delightful little moan. His pelvis is flush against David’s ass.

Patrick feels amazing inside him. His huge cock fills up David so completely. He’s never felt like this before. _Sex_ has never felt like this before.

Patrick stills. David is warm and so tight around him. He feels incredible, unlike anything he’s experienced before. He takes a moment, then smiles. “David.” He says the name as if it were holy. He says it again. And a third time. It’s as if this expresses everything he could possibly want to say. And it kind of does. He leans down and kisses David on the chest before looking back up at this face.

“Are you okay?” David asks.

Patrick nods then leans forward and kisses David. He kisses him like he doesn’t have his cock buried deep inside him. Kisses him like the kissing matters, not like it’s secondary to his getting off. Kisses him until David whines.

“I need you to fuck me, Patrick. Please.”

Patrick rises, and draws his prick out slowly before sinking back in. His face is rapturous. His eyes go vacant. “Ohmigod,” he huffs, surprised, on an exhale of breath.

David can’t help but smile at Patrick—at the obvious pleasure he is feeling as he slides in and out of David. He grabs hold of one of David’s thighs and pushes it over his hip. David groans at the manhandling and the new angle. He raises his other thigh, pushing them both high, his bent knees resting against his own shoulders and digging his heels into the small of Patrick’s back. Patrick adjusts to David’s new position, he drops his hands to the mattress on either side of David’s shoulders, and presses their lips together in a searing kiss. David cups Patrick’s face and doesn’t let go as he kisses him back, relishing the sensations. All of them.

A cascade of pleasure washes over him as Patrick rolls his hips, fucking into him deeply, again and again and again. The kissing gets frantic as the thrusts quicken. David’s cock is so hard. The friction of Patrick’s sweat-slicked body as it rubs against David is glorious. The unabashed sounds both men are able to pull out of the other all happen against each other’s lips. They swallow each other’s needy whines and moans of ecstasy. They cry the other’s name in the shuddered breaths between crushing kisses.

David comes loud and fast, and Patrick feels it, the tightening of David’s muscles around him as he shakes through his orgasm. It sends Patrick hurtling over the edge. The eruption of pleasure drowns out everything else. All he can see is stars. All he can hear is white noise. His body spasms, shaking in pleasure, again and again as he comes harder than he even thought was possible.

Patrick all but collapses onto David, panting heavily as David wraps his arms firmly around him. Patrick kisses David’s neck and nuzzles against him, kisses softly the hickey he left on the skin earlier.

“Is it always like this?” Patrick asks.

“It’s never like this,” David answers, honestly. Not once in all those years, with all those people, had it felt like that.

Patrick makes a happy sound and snuggles into David. “This is not how I imagined my day turning out when I woke up this morning.” He chuckles softly into David’s neck.

David hums in agreement. He runs his hands softly over Patrick’s back.

After they clean themselves up and get back in bed, Patrick wraps himself around David. Happy and content. 

This is it, Patrick thinks, the elusive missing ingredient. This is the reason why he could never make his relationship with Rachel work. He breathes David in, throws his leg over him and pulls himself closer. He listens to David’s heartbeat, watches his chest rise and fall. Patrick matches this breathing. Breathing deep and slow. Willing himself to sleep.

He fails. He’s too keyed up, thinking about what just happened. He gives up after a few wide-awake hours, decides to get up and let David sleep. Patrick thinks he’ll get in a quick hike and then surprise David with breakfast in bed. It’s only 5:00 a.m. after all. David will be asleep for hours.

Patrick is careful to close the door quietly behind him. 

A little later, David wakes up in an empty bed. Not just empty but cold. Maybe Patrick is taking a shower? Or getting a glass of water? He can’t be gone . . . right? Not after last night. 

David waits, dread growing in the pit of his stomach as each minute passes. Finally, he accepts the truth, realizes that Patrick is just gone. Nobody takes an hour-long shower. . . not when there’s somebody waiting for them back in bed. Obviously, this is a case of Patrick making a successfully executed stealthy post-sex exit. It’s not something David is unfamiliar with. But he’s never stuck around for an hour at someone else’s place to disprove it before. So, that’s new. 

He dresses hastily, grabs his sleep clothes from the pile on the floor and shoves them into his bag. It’s time to go home and forget this night ever happened. 

When Patrick gets back to Ray’s, he’s armed with a tea, a caramel macchiato and a paper bag that contains nearly the entire baked goods selection from Cafe Tropical. It’s still only 7:00 a.m. but he hopes David won’t mind being coaxed awake with the promise of sweet treats. And maybe some more kissing. . . and other horizontal activities. 

But David is gone. So is his bag.

 _Fuck_.

Patrick immediately reaches for his phone. He needs to find David. _God, what must he have thought when he woke up in bed alone?_ Patrick is such an idiot. He should have left a note. Or not left at all. He should have stayed curled around David until he woke up. He needs to fix this. He runs down the stairs back to his car. 

He hopes he can fix this.


	7. Hope You Stay This Crazy About Me for the Rest of Our Lives

It isn’t that long a walk from Patrick’s apartment to the motel—it’s just a hard thing for David to do when he’s feeling like this. The hour is early and the town is quiet in its collective Halloween hangover. The chilly November morning air is a reminder that winter is going to be settling in soon. They’ll need to start ordering holiday products for the store, David thinks. As if everything can just go back to the way it was before. And maybe it can. He hopes they still have that much.

David’s body is sore, a good kind of sore. It’s his heart that’s hurting. He can almost feel Patrick still pressed against him, inside him. His lips are swollen from Patrick’s kisses, his neck and chest marked up because of Patrick’s insatiable mouth. He feels wrung out, physically and emotionally, and considering the events of the past 24 hours, it’s no surprise. 

David finally makes it to his room, more than ready to crawl into his bed and suffer romantically for a while. But when he enters, he sees his sister as a large unmoving lump under the covers in her bed. And next to her his normally impeccably made-up twin bed is also mussed and lumpy. One thin graceful arm and some tousled red tresses peek out from beneath his high-thread count bedding.

Neither Rachel nor Alexis stirs as David surveys the room. A couple of empty bottles of prosecco are sitting on the bedside table, along with a few fun-size candy bar wrappers. It looks like they had a good time and honestly David doesn’t begrudge them this newfound friendship. He’d just hoped to have some time to wallow alone before having to figure out who is opening the apothecary today.

David leaves the room and peeks in the motel office. Stevie is nowhere to be found. So she’s probably still doing Jake. Ugh. Might as well caffeinate then. He makes his way over to the café, which seems busier than he’d expect at this hour. Then again, David has never been here this early before. If things were right with the world, he’d be deep asleep in his bed at the motel. But nothing feels right. 

By the time Patrick makes it to the motel, he is beside himself. Nothing feels right. His phone is still dead; Patrick was too distracted by having David in his bed last night to charge it. It sits uselessly in the cupholder, mocking him and his inability to get ahold of David. He bangs on the door of their room, calling out to David, asking him to please open up. But it’s not David who finally opens the door. It’s Rachel. 

“Patrick?”

“Rachel? What—? Is David here?”

“No, just me.” At Patrick’s look of confusion, she elaborates. “Alexis just left. She’s got some important brunch date with her mom.” 

Patrick pushes open the door and leans his head inside as if to check David isn’t hiding under one of the beds. He sees the detritus of a girls’ night in but no David.

“Hey, Patrick, are you okay?” Rachel says in her most soothing voice, one he knows well, which she uses when the Jays are behind in the ninth.

She thinks he looks decidedly not okay. He seems frantic, like he might fall apart at any second.

“Patrick, wait. Sit down for a second. Did something happen with David?” 

He’s made everything so complicated. He doesn’t know how to answer her. With a sigh, he opts for the truth. 

“Yeah, something happened with David. Everything happened with David. It was the most amazing night of my life and now I think I might have fucked up. No, I _know_ I fucked up.”

 _Ouch._ Rachel blanches at the “most amazing night of my life” comment but recovers quickly. This isn’t about her. Patrick is clearly in some kind of crisis.

“What happened?” 

And he tells her. About how he panicked when she turned up at Rose Apothecary, right on cue, six months later trying to win him back for the fiftieth time. Tells her that he made up the whole boyfriends thing, that it was all fake—but that he wished it wasn’t. He tells her how he left David alone and naked in his bed after they’d just had sex—for the first time ever—without them having talked, without David knowing how Patrick feels. Tells her how he felt, in that moment, in bed with David. How he thought—hoped—that David felt it too. 

“Basically, I don’t know what is real anymore,” he finishes. He looks at her, trying to read her face. Hoping he hasn’t just fucked up another relationship by telling her all this. 

She takes a moment to process what Patrick has said, reevaluating what she saw last night, a slideshow of images replaying themselves in her mind only now viewed from a slightly different perspective. Her conversation with David outside the bathroom, the way he and Patrick gravitated toward each other, the way they danced and laughed and held tightly onto each other’s hands. Alexis had assured her last night that when she saw David being kissed by another guy, it wasn’t what she thought. So, everything else seemed to add up to one simple conclusion. 

“It didn’t look fake to me. I think David is just as in this as you are.”

Patrick lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relief flooding through him. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. The way you two looked at each other last night was totally nauseating. . . in an over-the-top, lovey-dovey kind of way.” 

“Really?” he asks again because he can’t get enough of her answer. He wants to hear her say it again. That she thinks David has feelings for him. 

“Yes. Okay? And don’t ask me a third time,” she warns.

“I’ve got to find him. He’s probably at the café.”

“Woah, wait, you can’t just show up there. You have to make it up to him. I just told you he’s in this as much as you are . . . but he also seems like a pretty sensitive guy. I think you were right when you said you’d fucked up. Having David wake up alone was pretty crappy. You need to show him your true feelings. That you want to be boyfriends for real. You need a grand gesture.”

A grand gesture. That’s exactly what he needs. He pulls Rachel into a big hug. “Thank you, Rach. Thank you so much.” She holds on tightly because she knows after this, it’s over. She will be driving home, alone, leaving Patrick to his new life.

“I will always love you, you know? Not like that, obviously, but you’re still my best friend. If you’ll have me.”

Rachel looks up at him, his earnestness evident, hope in his eyes. She smiles. 

“Yeah, I think we can make that work, Brewer.” Patrick grins at her. 

“Send me a text when you get back?”

“Will do. And you let me know how the grand gesture pans out?”

“Absolutely.” He pulls her into another embrace. 

She waves as he drives off. He’s not sure what he ever did to deserve her, but he’s glad to still have her in his corner. He takes the turnoff towards Elmdale. He has a date to plan. 

Over at the café, David sits in a booth alone. He looks up from his phone when Twyla brings him his regular macchiato and chocolate croissant.

“Big night, huh, David? ”

“Um, what?!”

 _Oh, god, can people tell?_ Do they _know_. . . that Patrick has given him the best night of his life only to then walk out on him, shattering all his dreams the next morning?

Twyla nods at the specialty coffee she’d placed in front of David. “Oh, I just figured since you don’t usually have your second coffee until the afternoon. Two breakfasts on the other hand, that seems less surprising.” Twyla winks as she smiles at David. As usual, David doesn’t know what she’s going on about.

“Um, thanks?” he says. Poor thing seems to have finally gone off her rocker.

“Any time.” Twyla turns away and heads to take the orders at the next booth over. David takes his coffee in one hand, drumming the fingers of his other hand on the tabletop _._ He wonders when the fuck it will be safe for him to return to the motel. He desperately needs a shower—if he’s going to show up in the world. And see Patrick at work later and pretend like he’s not breaking apart.

“Well, hello there,” an unwelcome voice greets him. “D. Rose, looking a little worse for wear at this awfully early time in the morning? And all alone with no boytoy farmer. Interesting.” 

Of course, it just had to be her. Desdemona standing over him, dressed in a sleek black trench coat dress and fishnet stockings. After his one amazing night with Patrick, David had almost forgotten about her being in town. Almost.

“Ugh. Just leave me alone,” he says, “okay?” David rests his face in his hands, moments later peeking through his fingers to see that Desdemona has slid into the booth across from him. “Seriously. What further damage do you possibly need to do here? Can’t you go away? Just . . . stop?”

“Oh, D, darling, you know I never stop until I get what I want. But mmm yes, sadly I am on my way out of town today once I tie up one final loose end.” She narrows her eyes and examines him closely. “You seem distressed. Maybe things in paradise with Mr. Amazing aren’t quite as perfect as you’d made it seem last night? Maybe this special boyfriend isn’t so special after all?” 

David opens his mouth to respond with something sad and self-deprecating but he stops and reflects. His night with Patrick? It _was_ amazing. It _was_ special. It _was_ perfect. And she can’t tarnish that. Even if Patrick’s had some delayed panic or regret over it. Even if it ends up that it was only for one night. David had felt . . . wanted. Cherished. Cared for. And worthy of love. Being with Patrick wasn’t like being with Desdemona, Sebastien—or anyone else he’d ever known. 

No matter what happens next, maybe it’s time for him to realize he deserves that. That he doesn’t deserve _this_.

“Have you ever wondered why you act like this? Why you feel the need to torture other people?” he looks her in the eye and asks coolly.

“What?” Desdemona is taken aback, fumbling like she’s trying to formulate a response.

“You don’t even know, do you? Ugh, you know what? I’m done with this— with me giving away all my power,” David says, his voice growing stronger. “Nothing you do or say can hurt me unless I let you. So, yeah, that’s right. We’re done with you. You don’t know anything about me or my life or what’s important to me. And, honestly, the whole ‘evil-dominatrix-shtick’ is getting old. Halloween is over and your little haunted house event is all done. So why don’t you get on your broomstick and fly on out of here, _Des_? No one in this town is looking for you.”

“Well, but— I—” she sputters. “I’m not sure you’d talk to me like that if you knew what I could do to you and the people you care about. . . and well, look who is here, _my brunch date_. Moira, darling, you look gorgeous as always. Oh, hmm. Hello, A, I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us too. What a perfectly lovely Rose family gathering. A veritable garden filled with all my favorite flowers, ready for plucking,” she says, laying it on thick. She looks at David pointedly, as if daring him to continue.

David sighs as his mother and sister settle themselves into the booth. Alexis slides in on David’s right and Moira sits across from her, next to Desdemona. Alexis gives David a meaningful look and he finds his sister’s presence comforting for a moment. But then she pulls out her phone as if she can’t even be bothered to pay attention. David realizes he’s on his own in this battle then.

“Daaavid,” says Moira. “How lovely to find you already ensconced in our most unconventional local brasserie with Desi. How truly fortuitous it is that we are all present, considering that we have a meaningful proposition about which we must discourse.”

Desdemona not so subtly rolls her eyes at Moira’s elaborate turns of phrase and then addresses Alexis and David. 

“Okay, A, D, listen, here’s the deal. Your mother has already committed your family to the show and now it’s your turn to give me your final _affirmative confirmation_ ,” she mimics Moira’s cadence, “about your participation.” 

“Um, that’s a real quick no,” David replies. There’s no way I’m signing onto anything you’re involved with. None of us are.”

“Look, Roses, I’m on my way out of town now so I don’t really have the energy to give you the soft _or_ hard sell. It’s just time now for you to agree. That’s what I need. And so that’s exactly what’s going to happen.” Alexis makes a surprised humming noise and Desdemona continues, “I’m gonna make this simple enough for even you all to understand. Mama Rose signed a legally binding contract last night. She’s obligated for a 10-episode arc in my new series which _will_ feature the foibles and failures of the down-on-their-luck Roses literally living in Shitsville . . . .” 

“I don’t think we discussed _that_ ,” Moira cuts her off, clearly surprised as she turns towards Desdemona. “It was my impression we’d be filming elsewhere, perhaps in New York? Or Vancouver? Someplace befitting the Rose family’s triumphant return to society. Also, the show you’ve just characterized is significantly divergent from what you asserted when I inscribed this arrangement.”

“You did wh-aat?” David says, turning to his mother. “You’ve already signed the contract? What. The Actual— Alexis and I literally looked everywhere for you at the end of the party last night to tell you to not commit to anything this monster offers. When we couldn’t find you, I assumed you’d gone home and that we would have at least a day to avert this disaster. Don’t you get what she wants to do to you— to us?”

“David, look! The opportunity arose to return Television’s Moira Rose to the éclat of the small screen and I just plunged right into the natatorium with both feet, okay? You should try it some time.”

“Ugh!” David responds. So frustrated. _Fuck_ _fuck fuck fuck_.

Alexis, who has been quietly scrolling through her phone until now, looks up with a bored expression. “Oh? I’m sorry. That um, reality show— _Fallen Stars_? Is that the one you mean? Oh yeah, that’s not happening.”

“A, I know that inside that ditzy head of yours you aren’t aware what’s going on a lot of the time, but your mummy signed a contract,” Desdemona replies, condescendingly. “The show starts filming in two weeks. Consider your privacy gone. All your dirty secrets are mine—I mean ours—now. Starting with whatever the camera might have seen last night.”

“Yeah, but, um, no,” Alexis says, now making direct eye contact with Desdemona, even as she calmly lays her hand on David’s arm, whose eye is starting to twitch. “See, when I was leaving your super-fun costume party last night— _thanks so much for that, by the way_ —I ran into Marty B. Oh, David, you remember him! He was always such a total sweetie when he worked on _A Little Bit Alexis_. Anyway, he was just so helpful telling me about all the footage from the hidden cameras and how everyone was supposed to have signed waivers but didn’t. And I thought, mmm, having the username and password to access the hard drive with all the footage? That really would come in handy for someone who wanted to download their own copy and to then just-oh-oops-erase everything from the master. Wouldn’t it? Oh, Des! That might make it hard for you to finish your little spooky house show though,” she says, with an exaggerated pout.

“You little bitch!” Desdemona screeches, her manicured hands clenched into fists. David and Moira look at both women now with wide eyes, swiveling their heads back and forth like they’re seated center court at the final match at Wimbledon. 

“Okay, okay,” Desdemona mutters, calming herself. “No, it’s all right. I mean, I can still pull the show together from what I already have. That footage could have made it even more authentic but— well anyway, most importantly I still win. So, nice try, girlie but that little stunt has zero impact on the new show Moira has committed you all to—” 

Desdemona leans back in the booth and spreads her arms wide across the back of the seat behind Moira, as if to reclaim dominance over the situation. “And don’t even think you can get out of signing on to _Fallen Stars_ because if you two kids don’t sign those contracts, the unflattering spotlight will shine even that much more brightly on dear mummy. So, get ready to just take whatever humiliation I decide you deserve,” Desdemona says.

“Oh, Des?” Alexis says in her most sugar-coated voice. “I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t finished?”

“Okay?” She sounds dismissive and patronizing but willing to let Alexis continue.

“Yeah. So anyway! After catching up with adorable Marty, my best gal Rachel and I were in the Uber on the way home and I just was thinking, gosh, you know what? It’s been so long since I talked with Georgie! David, do you remember him? I don’t think you’ve seen him since Ibiza.”

“Georgie? Um. I’m not sure. . .” David says.

“Oh my god. Is there a _point_ to this!” Desdemona huffs dramatically.

“Mmm, well, that’s a good question and the answer is yes. Georgie, David, oh you know! George Wintram, Jr.? Son of CEO George Wintram, Sr.? You definitely know _him_ —he’s Des’s boss, Mike’s boss? Everybody’s boss, I’m pretty sure. So I gave him a quick call and we had so much fun reminiscing about the time I accompanied his family on their cute huge yacht to visit Majorca. Then he put his dad on the phone and we just had such a lovely talk, too. Sweetest little guy. Can you believe he still brings up how I helped him through his panic attack in the underwater caves at Coves del Drach and dels Hams in Porto Cristo? George, Sr. was just always so grateful.”

“Anyway,” she says, suddenly angling her body toward Desdemona, “I just couldn’t stop singing _your_ praises to him.” Desdemona looks sharply at Alexis, her face turning sour. Alexis absolutely has her attention now. “I told him all about my new marketing and public relations degree and about how, in my professional opinion, I thought your _totally fun_ little popup promotional event would reflect on the Interflix brand as a whole. He seemed really attentive when I told him how impressive it was the way you—specifically you—really customized the haunted house experience. About how specialized and interactive you made it. What with the kidnapping and psychological torture element. I made extra sure he knew about how the duct tape restraint really lent itself to the authenticity of the whole ‘being held against my will’ thing. He sounded super interested when I told him I had footage of the whole thing if he wanted to see it for himself. You know, to really immerse himself in the experience of a young woman being held hostage on one of his projects.”

“You sneaky cu. . . Who do you think you are? I will ruin you. You can’t, you can’t. . .” Desdemona spits. Alexis pays no mind.

“And don’t worry, I assured him it was all you. I said, ‘George, trust me, this was Desdemona Donovan’s brainchild and don’t take anyone else’s word for it because she deserves all the credit.’” Alexis tilts her head to the side and hums. “So, I’m not, like, actually sure how binding that contract mom signed is anymore. I mean, I’m just guessing but you should probably check your messages because I think your heinous little show is canceled. I’m sure you’ll be able to find another job at some other network though. I mean, what are the chances all the other network heads and bigwig executives types actually talk to each other? So you should be fine. They’ll probably even take all that time and hard you work you put in at Interflix for over a decade into consideration. I bet your next job will be . . . just . . . what . . . you. . . _deserve_.” Alexis punctuates her final four words with a finger tap on the tabletop. 

Desdemona looks absolutely ready to explode and they all regard her a bit like a dangerous animal, trapped in the booth beside Moira. “Let. Me. Out,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear, are you feeling trapped?” Alexis asks, sweetly. “It’s not really fun being boxed in without having the free will to leave, is it?”

Desdemona growls menacingly to get Moira to scoot over. Instead the Rose family matriarch sits up tall in her seat, not budging an inch, drawing on all her Vivan-Blake energy. She turns her body toward the other woman. 

“Now, you will listen to me, Desdemona Donovan, because this is the one and only time I will convey this particular injunction. You will not seek association with any member of this family ever again. Under any circumstances. You will leave this municipality immediately without hesitation never to recrudesce. If you are fortunate, this will be the worst of what is going to befall you. But there are no guarantees of that if you choose to cross the Roses again. Do you understand me?” She speaks with such authority and raw power that her children find themselves nodding and they all then look expectantly at Desdemona, who also slowly nods. Moira sweeps out of the booth to let her up and Desdemona scurries away, straight out of the café. 

The Roses raise their coffee cups. “A toast!” says Alexis. “Huzzah!” says Moira. “Good riddance,” says David. “Hey Twy!” Alexis calls over to her friend behind the counter, “Could I get a celebratory smoothie?” 

At that moment, Johnny Rose walks in the door and sees the three of them sitting together. “Hello, my family,” he says, genially. “You all seem very pleased with yourselves. What did I miss?” He settles in the booth beside his wife.

Patrick heads straight to the café as soon as he gets back from Elmdale. When he enters, he immediately sees David sitting in a booth with his family, clearly celebrating something. Patrick takes a pause to watch him. He looks happy, clinking his coffee cup against Alexis’s smoothie, a soft proud smile on his face. Maybe this isn’t the time. Maybe he should wait until Rose Apothecary opens, talk to David then, in the relative quiet of their store. But David looks up from the table and sees him. His smile fades.

Patrick steps forward then, asks David if they can talk. He nods and they relocate to a free booth. David looks tired. His hair is still mostly straight and his stubble is scruffier than usual. It’s obvious he’s been displaced this morning. From Ray’s. From the motel. The happiness he had absorbed while sitting with his family drains out of him entirely as he sits opposite Patrick. 

Before Patrick can apologize or explain what happened, David is talking. 

“Okay, Patrick, so I think it’s probably better if we just focus on the business and not try and push anything. We can go back to being co-workers—business partners—and pretend that last night didn’t happen.” David won’t look Patrick in the eye, instead he is carefully studying the formica tabletop that separates them. Patrick longs to reach across the table and take David’s hands in his but this closed-off David frightens him. _Has he already lost David for good?_

“I don’t want to pretend like we’re co-workers.”

“We _are_ co-workers.”

“I’m done with pretending things. That’s not what I want. I don’t want to be your business partner, David.”

David feels like he got kicked in the stomach. Patrick has just knocked down whatever is left of the fractured foundations of their friendship. Stomped on this partnership they’d built, turned it to dust. And what for? A one-off fuck? David wants to cry. He wants to run. But then he reminds himself of the strength he found earlier with Desdemona. He is deserving of respect. He deserves to be cherished. He deserves better than settling for someone who doesn’t reciprocate his feelings. So he stays and speaks his piece.

“I’m just trying to be professional here, okay? I think this is going to take a minute to get used to. But if you really don’t want to be partners anymore, then we can work something out. Figure out how to divest your stake in the store.”

“What? No. I don’t mean—” Patrick takes a desperate breath and this time he does reach across the table, placing his hand on top of David’s. “What I meant was I don’t want to _just_ be your business partner. I want you, David Rose. And I want to take you out on a date. For real this time.”

David wants so badly to jump across the table and slide into the bench next to Patrick. To kiss him senseless, to tell him yes, yes, of course he wants to go on a real date. But this morning he woke up alone in someone else’s bed and he knows his heart can’t cope with it happening again. Not if that someone is Patrick. Not if David is just some kind of experiment or fuck buddy to him. So, he doesn’t move, waiting to see if there is something more. And it does seem like Patrick does have something else he wants to say. 

“David,” he begins. “I’m so sorry about this morning. I know what it must have looked like—after last night—but it wasn’t that. It really wasn’t.”

Patrick waits, giving David time to process. He squeezes David’s hand which draws David’s gaze down towards where they lay on the tabletop. He stares at them for a while, considering, before he looks back up and meets Patrick's eyes. He takes a deep breath.

“Last night was—well—it, um—It was not nothing. For me.”

Patrick’s smile turns upside down, his eyes crinkle, his face goes completely soft. “Last night wasn’t nothing for me either. Actually. . . it was kind of everything.”

“It was?”

Patrick nods.

“Then why did you leave?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he huffs out a dejected laugh. “Honestly, I wasn’t thinking. I was awake and you were asleep, and I figured I’d be back before you woke up. I was actually kind of looking forward to waking you up.”

“I think I would have liked that,” David’s smile is tentative, but real.

Patrick slides an envelope across the table. “So, what do you say, David? Will you go on a date with me tonight?” He looks at David through his lashes, his fingers still lingering on the envelope. David picks it up. Inside are two tickets to the Julie Stiles-a-thon playing at the drive-in movie theater. 

“The tickets are good for the whole week, but I was hoping you’d be free tonight.” Patrick smiles. “I also made reservations for us at the new farm-to-table restaurant and asked them to prepare a special dessert and wine picnic hamper to take with us to the drive-in after dinner.”

David’s dimples appear, his eyes are glistening as he nods. “Yes, Patrick, I’d love to go on a date with you tonight.”

They beam at each other for a glorious beat, before David jumps up and slips into the booth next to Patrick and kisses him, closed-mouthed—given their audience—but with an intensity that promises so much more to come. So many more kisses and so many more evenings spent lying in each other’s arms.

When they break apart, Patrick can’t help himself. “I know as grand gestures go this one is kind of small. I tried for big, I really did, but unfortunately I wasn’t able to get Schitt’s Creek High’s Marching Band on such short notice.” He grins at the mixture of emotions coloring David’s face. He sees delight there, in the fact Patrick made that particular romcom film reference but also relief. So much relief at not having Patrick sing at him with a marching band in tow. In front of the whole town. 

“Thank god for small mercies,” David says, his smile returning.

“But I’ll have you know I do a rousing rendition of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.’”

“Mmhmm,” David nods his head, amused, playing along. “I’m sure you do.”

“So, don’t worry, David. I will absolutely sing to you in public really soon.”

“Um, I don’t think that’s necessary. So.”

“Oh, but I think it is.”

David cringes, his lips screwing up into a formation that Patrick wants to kiss away. So he does. 

That night, with his head resting on Patrick’s shoulder in the backseat of his car, David is happy. Truly happy. He watches as Patrick-on-the-screen serenades Kat. He feels Patrick-in-the-car squeeze him closer as the marching band starts playing, his hand continuing to stroke circles against his sweatered arm. Patrick turns and kisses David’s hairline.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Jocelyn tomorrow? Find out what’s involved in hiring the marching band?”

David huffs, not dignifying that with an answer. But he snuggles in a little closer to his Patrick. Then a little more. Then he is kissing him. And being kissed back. Tonight, he knows for sure how Patrick feels. He doesn’t need to guess because Patrick tells him. In whispered affirmations against his lips and his skin, into the hollow of his neck.

Patrick has spent most of the movie thinking about David, specifically, how David’s body feels leaning against his own. How nice it feels when it shakes in laughter, or how it wiggles when David gets excited. He watches the way his hands move animatedly when he whispers the movie dialogue in time with the actors on the screen. It’s a lot. This feeling of having David next to him. Having him completely. Not just his body but his heart, too. 

His body, though, it’s definitely distracting. Patrick is hesitant to make the first move after what happened this morning. He’s determined to be the picture of the perfect gentleman taking his boyfriend out on a proper date. He applauds himself for his self-control. Even if he does let his mind wander on occasion.

But once David starts kissing him, all semblance of control flies out the window. For a hot minute David ends up straddling him, sitting in his lap. Patrick takes pity on him for the lack of headroom in his sensible sedan and flips their positions. He grinds against David, feeling their mutual arousal through his jeans, until finally David tells him to stop. He begins to climb off David’s lap but rather than letting Patrick leave, David unzips his jeans and takes hold of his cock. Patrick watches David’s hand slide up and down. It’s so hot. He’s never watched anyone masturbate before. David leans forwards and kisses Patrick as he continues to stroke himself.

Patrick’s hands reach forward and cup David’s jaw, holding his head in place as he kisses him hard. When they break apart, David smirks, “I can think of other things you could be doing with those hands. . . like unbuckling that braided belt, for example.”

Patrick does exactly that. He frees his erection and is about to start stroking himself when David stops the movement of his own hand. He pushes Patrick forward so that his cock is bumping up against his own. He holds Patrick’s eye contact as he sloppily licks his palm, then grips both cocks in his large hand. David strokes, and Patrick is enthralled. He watches his prick slide alongside David’s. Watching as it disappears within David’s fist each time his hand rises. Watching it reappear on the downward stroke. He comes quickly, warm and messy, over David’s hand. David continues stroking, pumps twice more before he too is shaking through the throes of an orgasm.

Patrick brings his forehead against David’s, his arms wrapping around David’s neck. “I’m really glad you agreed to come on this date, David.”

They decide to skip the next movie and instead return to Ray’s.

“Hey, what’s this?” David asks, looking at the familiar cardboard cup holder from the café. A large paper bag next to it. Peeking inside, he sees a crumbled mess of pastry pieces.

“Oh. Yeah. That,” Patrick rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “That was meant to be breakfast.”

“You brought me breakfast in bed?”

“Well, I _tried_ to. But I think we can both agree that I failed spectacularly at it.”

David’s face turns soft. “Oh. Well, I guess it would be okay if you wanted to do that again. Just maybe next time you could, um, decide to leave a note?”

“David Rose. Trust me. That would be the easiest decision of my life.”

**Author's Note:**

> Five678Patty:  
> To my co-author, Pants, I want to give the heartfelt _est_ of heartfelt thanks and the highest of Johnny Rose high fives because there is literally NO WAY I could have done this without you. Like, seriously, _no way_. *raises hand* _C’mon up here_.  
>    
> I’m a little astounded at what two serial procrastinators can achieve when you factor in their want to not let the other person down. We did it, buddy! And we _definitely_ need to do it again. <3  
>    
> Pants:  
> I don’t even know what I can say to sing the praises of Five678Patty. Finishing this with you was a minor miracle but I’m so happy we did it and that neither of us gave up and ran away screaming. (It was close this past week but we won’t speak of that.) 
> 
> This was truly the definition of teamwork makes the dream work. Would I do this again with you? Heck yeah! Maybe not a 37K epic in a few weeks...but then again ya never know! Love you, sistah!  
> p.s. Those of you who enjoyed the smutty Chap 6 - that was 90% my phenomenal co-writer. 
> 
> The fic and all chapter titles come from "I Got You" by Amy Shark.


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